Battered Not Broken
by scotchmusings
Summary: This a roleplay converted from Tumblr to here for your enjoyment! This starts when Tom and Tex are being held hostage on the Vyerni, but with a twist. Rachel is held hostage as well, and then she and Tom are put in a cell together. Please note this is VERY M for SMUT. You've been warned ; )
1. Chapter 1

Rachel's head was pounding as the Russian  
soldier pushed her down the dark p-way of the _Vyerni_.  
She knew blood was coming from the head wound, tasted  
the blood from her split lip against her tongue. Her jaw  
ached from the blows and she just wanted to close  
her eyes. But she couldn't, _**wouldn't**_ ,until she knew _**he**_  
was all right.

When her vaccine on Ruskov's brother hadn't worked,  
they'd separated her, Tom, and Tex. They'd taken her to  
Ruskov's quarters and tried to _**coerce**_ information from  
her at first, before the man attempted to _**beat**_ any  
information she had out of her. She wasn't so easily  
swayed, and despite her _ **fear**_ , her need to protect Tom  
at all costs had kept her mouth shut.

And despite the massive headache, and the  
blood and bruises she now wore, it was worth every  
word left unsaid.

One soldier opened the door, while the other removed  
the heavy metal hand cuffs. The disheveled man pushed  
her roughly through the door, and all she could do once  
she recovered her footing was sigh in relief that _**he was there**_.  
 _ **Alive.**_

" _ **Captain."**_

 _ **XXXXX**_

The second one of the Russian soldiers came to take Tex  
away, he feels a sudden loss. An inner battle he was having  
within his mind. Pissed off at the world. Pissed off that his  
crew didn't listen to an ORDER he had made. And with NO  
code in MIND. He's pissed that Tex is getting taken away,  
to an unknown room. He's pissed that fuckin' Rachel just  
had to pla O.

' _What the hell are you doing here?'_

It came to a shock, blood boiled – angry in his BONES.  
Leaving him with a kiss, the taste of honey and mint lingering  
on his tongue. A note on his tongue. 0400.

The Captain hadn't seen anyone in _hours._ Lips chapped, face  
burned from the sun. Gritting his jaw, clenching and unclenching  
his fist, the nerves getting to the better of him. Cyan hues close,  
head resting against the metal bars. The moment he heard the  
door swing open, head snaps up.

Rachel's once creamy sweater was now covered with blood spatter.  
Blood, thickening by the second he was on this god forsaken ship.  
If he could, he would kill every last Russian aboard this ship. A deep  
breath in, he shows no emotion until she's in the cell with him.  
Head shaking, he reacts like any Captain would, grabbing her face  
taking check if she had anything broken– other than the blows  
she took.

' **What** were you _thinking?'_

 _ **XXXXX**_

Rachel flinches in pain as he's touching her face, clenching her  
sore jaw. Of course he's asking her what she was thinking.  
In retrospect, she's not entirely sure because she didn't think  
this was what she was signing up for. But now that they were  
face to face once more, she knows more now than ever that  
she did this for _**him**_.

She can tell he's upset, he has every right to be. Not one person  
on the _Nathan James_ had listened to his transmission, including  
herself. And she knew she, of all people, was the the last  
person who should have left the ship to go after him.

She can't meet his eyes, she can't imagine what she looks  
like in this moment. And the kiss…a flush creeps up her bruising  
cheeks and she relaxes ever so lightly into his hands despite herself.

At least she knows she's safe now, for this moment.

"Ruskov only wanted _**me**_. And your crew _**needs you**_.  
This was the only option."

 _ **XXXXX**_

Thumb grazing against her split lip, wishing he could have some  
sort of water for her. Not for him, but for HER. Gritting his jaw,  
he's disregarding any sort of personal space, hand coming up to  
run his fingers through her hair checking to see if she was a:  
bleeding, and or b: a bump for a concussion. Tom's fingers are  
slow, gentle, the questions clouding his judgement. What the  
hell happened between her and Ruskov?

Laying a hand on a man, on a solider but a woman, a doctor  
for that matter? It was a whole different story. It wakes up a  
whole different side of Tom that he had long forgotten about.  
Cyan hues snap towards her direction, did she truly mean that?  
Did she think of herself so _little?_ Jaw clenches, swallowing hard.

' **There's** always an option!'

His voice grew thick, dark, the Russian in the room glaring at him.  
He sighs, free hand running through his short grey hair, shaking  
his head while his hands traveled across her whole skull, minor  
bumps here and there. The cut on her forehead was still bleeding  
out. Grabbing the end of his navy shirt, ripping it, and applying it  
to her forehead.

' **You** could've gotten killed.  
Or worse. They didn't even  
need to bring you here. They  
could keep you hostage just  
like Quincy's family. You're  
too important to leave my ship.  
And **here** you are.'

 _ **XXXXX**_

She can't help her eyes closing as he's looking her over,  
his hands in her hair, his thumb on her _**lip**_.  
It's unnerving having him this close  
to her, touching her this way. Despite the fact that Ruskov  
had just tried to touch her in a similar fashion, Tom is still  
able to do it and _**not**_ make her feel anything other than  
 _ **warmth**_.

She shivers at the thought of Ruskov's hands on her and  
she swallows hard, pushing the thoughts from her mind.  
She won't tell Tom about it, she knows it'll only make  
things _ **worse**_. This should have gone off without a hitch,  
this hostage part was not part of the plan.

He's pressing the fabric to her forehead and she hisses in  
pain, biting the already split lip to hold back a whimper.

"Like I said, it was me he wanted. He was supposed  
to exchange you and Tex for me once he was sure  
the vaccine would work. Which it didn't, and that's  
why we're now in this situation."

She waits a beat, her eyes focused on the middle of his  
broad, strong chest.

"I suspect they put us together because of our  
note-passing actions…"

Ruskov had tried to beatthat out of her too, thought there  
was more to their relationship. That silence had left the bleeding lip.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom doesn't wish to think about what had happened with her and  
Ruskov. Clearly, she took a number of hits. Does he wan't to know  
truly? What would happen if he looked on her back? A soft sigh  
escapes him, keeping the pressure up against her forehead.

' _ **I'm**_ starting to think you like this.  
Putting yourself in danger. Get a  
high off of it? What would happen  
if they released us? Just Tex and  
I? We need you for the cure. You  
gotta stop putting a risk to yourself.'

He's gonna have a heart attack by the time they actually get a proper  
cure with the way she was going. A brow arches, at the mention of  
the note passing. He wants to ask her about it. Why him? Why not  
Tex? He breathes in and out, watching her carefully so she doesn't  
fall asleep.

' _ **You**_ just think of everything.  
Don't you?'

 _ **XXXXX**_

She wants to drop her head in defeat at his words, but she can't  
because his hand and the fabric are still very much pressed  
to her forehead. She honestly wants to lean against him,  
her head is pounding and she could use a brace.

She chooses to feign strength, looking up at him. She's  
not sure her strength meets her eyes, but she tries like  
hell to appear unscathed.

"I don't sit on the sidelines well, _**Captain**_.  
How do you think I ended up on your ship  
in the first place? And in this case there  
was a team coming for us. Where they  
are now, I'm not sure. Worse over worse,  
I would have stayed, while they let you two  
go. That was the most important part; you  
 _ **don't need me**_ any longer."

Another flush creeps up her cheeks and she's thankful  
for the dim light. She _**did**_ think of the kiss, thought it her  
best hope at getting it to him. She wasn't sure she could  
confess that portion though.

"It worked, did it not? How else should  
I have passed it? Shaking your hand  
seemed a bit _**obvious**_."

 _ **XXXXX**_

Tom's cyan hues are eyeing the dark blue cloth well aware that the  
blood probably wouldn't show up very well. He takes his hand away,  
gaze dropping to the fabric to examine the blood, to see if it was a  
lot or a little. It seemed to be slowing down, _good._ He doesn't have  
anything to patch her up with other then his cloth. Her poor forehead.  
She was absolutely stunning, she'd have a pretty decent sized battle  
scar to show off. He hates it. Hates that she **willingly** went to save him.  
It pisses him off to great length.

Hadn't the XO known how IMPORTANT she was? Cure done or not.  
Hues dart at her, and his free hand is gripping her wrist tightly for her  
to look at him, in the face.

' _ **Don't**_ you dare say we don't need  
you anymore. You're _wrong._ So damn  
wrong.'

As serious as he is in this moment, he can't help but chuckle lightly.  
He has a **wife.** He shouldn't be replaying their heated kiss in his  
mind over and over again. _But he is…_

' _ **Could've**_ cut me with that knife.  
Pretty skilled for a doctor, _Scott._ '

 _ **XXXXX**_

She looks up at him, he's holding her wrist, and her  
headache is dulled by the blue hue of his eyes. It's  
mesmerizing. Everything about him is _**so intense**_ and  
she finds herself only able to focus on those eyes.

And those lips. Now that she's touched them with hers,  
she seems to be unable to take her eyes, and thoughts,  
away from them.

"Why am I so important?  
I've done everything you needed  
me to do. Well, minus rescuing you."

The last sentence is more of a sigh, because she failed  
in this department. Though if she had to be held captive  
with someone, he would be _**her choice**_.

That chuckle sends _**warmth**_ through her soul. A smile  
pulls at one side of her full lips, albeit swollen.

"I had the utmost confidence in myself  
that I would not cut you or me. Though  
you definitely helped me with _the way  
you kissed back_."

Despite her injuries, her **sass** is still there.

 _ **XXXXX**_

Her eyes are so deep, he swears he could get lost in them forever.  
Guilt sinks in deeper and deeper, he tries his hardest to shove these  
emotions down the pits of his stomach, of his _soul._ It wasn't allowed.  
It shouldn't ever be allowed. But ever since her tongue had collided  
with his, he can't help himself. He's a man. A big man, and a man of  
need.

A light delicate sigh escapes him, he smooths out her dark golden  
brown locks, again– shaking his head. She was a damn smart woman.  
She had figured out how to create a CURE for god's sake! How could  
she be so blind?

' _ **You**_ boarded my ship, you're a part  
of _my_ ship. I _have_ to protect you. How  
in the **hell** am I supposed to protect  
you from—- these animals that seem  
to never _stop?_ Do you have a death  
wish?

Although his words are violent with extremely heavy meaning, his  
voice is soft, gentle almost. A tone he wasn't exactly USED too.

' _ **I just**_ went with it. Was it your idea?  
—- How do you feel?'

 _ **XXXXX**_

She's sucked in, _ **drunk**_ on his gaze and she's not thinking about  
anything else but his soft, gentle words. There's something tender  
there, she can't quite describe it, but maybe it's his tone? Either way,  
she's smitten. If she thought she was before today, this is solidifying it.

He has a _**wife, children**_ somewhere in the world. She'd trying to pull  
herself together, trying to pull her eyes away and she just can't because  
there's a magnet locking her darker ones to his oh-so vibrant ones.

And then he's running a hand over her hair, and she can't help but  
lean into his touch. She craves it actually. She can hardly admit it to  
herself. But she wants to, God, she wants to.

Her brow furrows a bit at his words. How is _**h e**_ supposed to protect her?

" _ **Tom**_ ,"

His name is rolling off her tongue and she can't rein it back in–she  
doesn't really want to.

"You don't have to protect me.  
I'll be fine."

She knows she's not fine, knows she's probably far from it and truthfully,  
she _**wants**_ him to protect her. How can she say that though? She knows  
her voice betrays how she really feels–so does the way she's looking at him.

"It was my idea. A last minute decision.  
You were _**perfect**_ under pressure."

She pauses, letting the moment sink in.

"Can we sit? I think I need to sit."

Her knees were a little _**weak**_ , if she was being honest.


	3. Chapter 3

Why couldn't they had just LISTENED to his command? His ORDER.  
He was their commanding officer wasn't he? No one else was their  
captain, no one told them that they had to come and rescue him.  
Not a single one. In fact, he was starting to feel _okay_ with dying.  
The Russian's just _had_ to take him in. Now they were sitting fuckin'  
ducks.

With Doctor Rachel Scott. The woman whom drove him absolutely  
insane. Yet, the mere thought of not seeing this woman every single  
day causes a fire to awaken in his soul. It's there, LOUD and clear.  
He's still pissed, _if_ they make it out of here alive…. the XO was going  
to answer to him directly for risking a precious live.

Cure or not.

She was a part of **their** team.

 _Even if that didn't include him._

Two hues snap upward, locking onto her dark gaze and he has to  
take a deep breathe in, and out—- All Tom can see is RED. She  
truly believes she could protect herself? Here? With these men  
that didn't speak a word of english? Hands the size of her waist  
alone, No, she could NOT protect herself. He grits his jaw hand  
coming up to her hem line of he sweater and lifting up and inch  
or two to see the visible bruises that would soon be black.

' _ **You honestly**_ believe you can protect  
yourself? Here? Did you already forget  
what you _walked_ yourself into?'

He's being a complete and utter asshole, fingers gripping at her  
fabric, staring at the dried blood on it.

Squeezing his eyes closed for a moment, trying to cool off his  
behavior knowing he'll snap soon enough. He offers her a twitch  
of a smile, tongue flicking out to his lips nodding slowly, easing  
her onto the cool floor.

' _ **You'll**_ never forget.'

 _ **XXXXX**_

As their sitting down, she's realizing he has a point. She's sore _everywhere_  
and she knows _ **he knows**_ it. He made it clear by lifting her shirt and  
exposing her bruises. She's got some healing to do. And she has a  
feeling she's not living this down any time soon. If they live, that is.

She wants to fight with him, wants to argue her point, but she realizes  
she's more interested in how it feels to be beside him,  
 _ **leaning against him**_. Their backs are against the cold wall, and she  
wants to rest her aching head on his broad shoulder. Instead she looks  
up at him, searching his blues.

"I'm still _ **alive**_ , aren't I?"

She knows the words don't make up for the bruises and the blood, but  
she's _not broken_. She's still _here,_ with _**h i m**_. She chooses her _charming  
_ attitude over an argument, because he would win the fight. He always does.

"Tell me,"

She wonders if she'll regret this playful conversation, but she needs  
something light, everything feels so _**heavy**_.

"Did you see it coming? _**The kiss**_?"

 _ **XXXXX**_

Long legs stretch out before him, the soreness from kicking from  
the water had killed him. Which reminds him that he indeed needs  
to start working out daily again. They're quiet for the moment. He  
looks over at her, making sure she wasn't going to fall asleep any  
time soon. Yeah, she's alive. And she's sure as hell making it known.

Making a small checklist in his mind when they get back to the NJ.  
He'll be sure to have her looked at first, he didn't have any wounds.  
Not yet, at least. If the Russians come back, he'll fight hard. A brow  
arches slightly at her question, a curl of his lips he smiles.

' _ **Not**_ at all. I was shocked to say the  
least. I tried not to let it show.'

 _ **XXXXX**_

She stretches her legs out next to his, noticing how much shorter she is.  
She likes his height, admires his build. He's a strong man, broad, and  
wears the uniform well. Wears this tee shirt well. She's sure he'd look  
good in anything…or nothing. She shakes her head slightly; those hits  
she took are really messing with her mind.

She laughs a little at his response. His initial reaction had fit perfectly  
upon seeing her, his tone of voice had been one of disbelief, his eyes  
wide. She couldn't stop picturing it in her mind. Not to mention the look  
he'd given her after, the way his eyes had grown _**so dark**_.

She doesn't raise her eyes, instead focuses on the vascularity of his arm  
beside hers, so close she could _run her fingers_ over the taut veins.

"Well, I couldn't tell. You didn't miss a beat.  
I'd say it was _**convincing**_."

She wondered briefly what it would be like to kiss him without an audience.

She has a concussion, she decides. These are not thoughts she'd normally,  
 _ **consciously**_ , think.


	4. Chapter 4

The Captain takes a look at his watch. 0300. An hour past her note.  
Was the rescue plan a fail? Would they have to be on this ship until  
he could figure out an escape plan? And where the _hell_ was Tex?  
Tom turns his neck slowly, taking her all in. She looked so painfully  
exhausted. A part of him feels bad, the other is oddly happy about it.  
Maybe she'll think twice before throwing herself out there to the dogs.

He remembers their kiss, how could he not? It was **hot.** Hotter then  
any kiss he'd ever have. Was it the need? The desperation? The utter  
confused state of mind? An audience? The grey haired male may never  
know.

' **I'm a** captain. Gotta think on my feet.  
It's my j o b. My duty. Course I was gonna  
go with it, _well.'_

A light chuckle escapes him, shifting slightly to face her feeling terrible  
about this whole entire situation, wishing he could ease her pain somehow.

' **It's** been awhile since we kissed anyone.  
Figured I'd be rusty.'

 _ **XXXXX**_

Rachel lifts her eyes now, taking in his words, taking in  
his sunburned skin and chapped lips. She hadn't noticed  
their chapped appearance or feel when she'd kissed him,  
but now, so close to him, she's wishing she had lip balm for him.

She reaches her right hand up and _**brushes her fingertips**_  
lightly across his parched lips. Her eyes drift from his lips  
to his eyes and she knows she's treading deep waters here.

"You are very good at thinking quickly.  
From everything _**I've seen**_ anyway.  
You're an exceptional captain, the Navy  
assured me you were– _ **are**_ the best."

She runs her own tongue just slightly over her own cut lip,  
dropping her hand to his chest lightly.

"I didn't think you were _**rusty**_ ,"

She says the words quietly, her eyes drifting up to meet  
his deep blue ones. She has a moment of _what if this is it_ and  
 _what if they aren't rescued._ It was only a matter of time before  
they came back for one of them. She hopes they spare him,  
and take her if that happens

 _ **XXXXX**_

They're facing each other now instead of being side by side. He  
doesn't entirely know how to feel about that, he doesn't know how  
to **feel** at all. It all feels _wrong_ yet so **right** at the same time. Was it  
the time ticking? Was it the fact they've been so in tune with each  
other since her little confession about what **her** mission was.

He doesn't dare flinch when her fingers are crossing his lips slowly.  
Shocked by the action, wondering what the _hell_ she's thinking?  
Tom's chest is rising and falling hard the room suddenly feeling  
a lot hotter. It was _her._ This was what she does to him. Makes his  
blood BOIL.

' _ **I'm**_ the best, alright. We've  
survived this long haven't we?  
Guess we make a pretty darn  
good pair.'

He's looking at her face now, her lip looks swollen from the hit  
from Ruskov. A black eye starting to form, her hair tousled sweater  
a little bit more lose then he'd seen from their first encounter on the  
ship. Cyan hues land on her dark orbs hypnotized by the situation,  
the atmosphere all together. God, he **wants** her. Wants to make her  
feel _better._ Because of _him._ _I didn't think you were rusty._ Wanting  
to prove him WRONG, his hand comes up behind her neck pulling  
her mouth onto his, roles revered just hours ago.

 _ **XXXXX**_

Rachel doesn't know what to make of the way he's looking at her  
and she's lost in the deep ocean that is his eyes. She hears his  
voice and the cockiness there. For all his humble and loyal ways,  
he knows he's the best. And she can appreciate that in a man.  
She would trust him with her life because he's just _**that good**_.

They did made a pretty good pair, she had to agree. She nods  
just slightly, a smile turning up at the corner of her swollen lips.  
She's _drawn to him_ , can't take her hand off his chest, where she  
feels his breathing and heartbeat very acutely through her palm.

She sees him raise his hand out of the corner of her eye, which  
doesn't falter from his, feels his own palm on her neck. Her skin is  
 _ **tingling**_ under his touch and her stomach does flip flops at the  
sensation and the _**anticipation**_ of what's next. _ **  
She knows**_. She can feel it as he's pulling her head to his.  
And she wants it, wants to feel his lips once more.

And now she's on the receiving end, and her lips are taken by his  
much as she had done to him. And just like before, it's like _**sparks**_ ,  
and she feels like a _ **live wire.**_ He is not rusty at all, his mouth feels  
amazing on hers and she forgets about any cuts or swelling because  
 _ **god this is.**_..there are no words. Her mind is blank and she's kissing  
him back hungrily, needy, but letting him lead, letting him set their pace.


	5. Chapter 5

He remembers the way his heart ached when he layed his eyes on  
her frame the second the Russians had pushed him into the room.  
He remembers how _shocked_ he was to see her, how **pissed** he was.  
They would send her. Their _crew._ The most important person on his  
ship. He remembers the LOOK on her face. He remembers her  
lunging herself at him, the feeling of her hand against the back of  
neck. He remembers how she had tasted. He remembers how truly  
frustrated he was he couldn't _touch her back._ He remembers how  
utterly terrified he was he wouldn't see her again.

And then she was getting shoved into the cell.

And now their lips were connected once more, on HIS terms. Fingers  
press against her olive skin, pulling her closer trying his damn hardest  
to keep it _down._ She tasted like mint, and blood. A mix he oddly enjoys.  
Tom moves his other hand to her back, tilting his neck slightly to deepen  
the kiss, tongue swiping across her lower lip the ache growing deeper  
and deeper the seconds his lips are connected to hers.

 _ **XXXXX**_

For all that was their first kiss, this one is much, much better. Better because  
it wasn't meant for passing a note, or for their lives. This one is meant just  
for them, because _**h e**_ wanted it, because _**s h e**_ wanted it. She's sure he  
knew she wanted it by the look in her eyes, on her face.

She moans into his mouth, it's _**soft**_ , but it's there. His lips feel like caresses  
against hers and there is no pain, no discomfort. His lips are salty, and she  
suspects it's from the sea, and she _**can't get enough**_.

He deepens the kiss with the changed angle and she leans into him, her  
small fingers grasping his shirt where it lay against his muscular chest, and  
his bicep, her fingers wrapping around the strong muscle she finds there.  
She opens her mouth at the touch of his tongue on her lip and slides hers  
against his, tangling it against his. Another small whimper releases from  
her, and her arm snakes up around his neck, her fingers running through  
the cropped greys on the back of his head.

She twists a little further toward him, pulling him closer by his shirt, just gently,  
wanting to be enveloped in his heat. She's sure she's never been kissed like  
this before; there is an intensity about this man that has her feeling things,  
things she tried not to feel when he was around. Now every nerve is on **fire**.

She's not thinking about the mission, or his _wife,_ or the Russians. She's only  
thinking about how she feels in this moment, his mouth on hers, his hands on  
her, and she **doesn't. Want. To. Stop.**

 _ **XXXXX**_

The gaze in her eyes when her delicate long fingers were brushing  
against his lips, he _knew._ He just knew. He had to give her this. If  
not now, when? Hell, even if had wanted to kiss her again. Their  
first was – different. It was urgent. Needy. Desperate, but filled  
with passion. This? This was all of that but on a whole different  
level. This was on their terms. Death wishes or not. Tom hopes  
that this was giving her something to **hold** onto until they get  
off of this fucking god damn ship.

His hopes are answered when he hears the little whimper escaping  
into his _own_ mouth. There was **no** going back from this. There was  
no escaping this. Or even _forgetting_ about this. This would forever  
be imprinted in his memory.

Tom's hand that had been on her back lowered slightly, fingers snagging  
their way under her sweater, finger tips pressing against her skin pushing  
her further into him in a unconscious way to escape the space between  
the pair. The second he's granted access, his tongue is collided with her  
own and he nearly groans himself at how devilishly _good_ she tastes.

Yeah, he can't take the space between him– pulling her onto him so she's  
straddling him, content– his other hand tangles in her hair, nipping at her  
lower lip with his teeth just **lightly.**

 **XXXXX**

She's thought about kissing him before, about doing other things with  
him before. How could a woman not think of him that way? She never  
thought it would actually happen though. He was _married_. Maybe that  
should stop her, slow this down. But as his tongue rubs against hers and  
she hears what could have maybe been a strangled groan coming from  
him, she knows wouldn't stop even if Ruskov himself was standing over them.

As his hand touches her skin under her heavy sweater, she feels a rush  
of desire and want. He pulls her closer and up on his lap, her jean-clad  
legs landing on either side of his hips, her hips flush against his pelvis,  
her chest against his. His hand in her hair feels like heaven, and she's  
raking her nails along the back of his neck and shoulders. She wants to  
be closer to him, nibbling on his lip in return, sucking it a little.

Her hips slide forward subconsciously, and the sensation draws a gasp  
against his lips, her mouth separating from his only momentarily. He  
feels so good, **so strong** under her, against her. She feels _**feverish**_ in  
his arms, a feeling she is sure only he can cause her.

Her hands slide to the hem of his un-tucked shirt; she wants to feel  
what's underneath. She slides her fingers up underneath, along his  
tight midsection and she sighs in satisfaction.


	6. Chapter 6

Tom didn't think that this could be possible. That _this_ would ever happen.  
While they were on a mission. A mission to save the world, really—- while  
his wife was at home with their children, he had no clue if they were still  
a live. Sick or not. The guilt is there, **oh it's so there.** But in this moment,  
the want, the desire, the need, the ache it overpowers all of the guilt. He  
doesn't know if it's because of her or not.

The fingers that had been on her skin, he sinks his fingertips against her  
skin, running along her soft olive skin, trailing across her hip, up her back,  
and down her spine while his tongue danced with her own, the heat in his  
belly not going away anytime soon. Pinching at her skin, reminding him  
that this was **r e a l.** Making sure this wasn't some sort of dream. The  
second she's against his lap, he tilts his head upward slightly a low groan  
leaving him when her hips move forward against him. If he wasn't already  
getting a hard on….

Oxygen. They needed it, he pulls his mouth away from hers to suck in a  
breath of air. His other hand still cupped her neck, pushing her hair away  
from her neck, lips coming up to _attack_ her neck with his mouth and teeth.

 ** _XXXXX_**

His groan turns her on more, as if she needed that fire stoked further,  
and she rolls her hips against his again, wondering if she can get the  
same reaction. Her fingers rake across his skin, grabbing, feeling everything  
she can under his shirt. She feels in control and yet desperate for him all  
at the same time.

She arches her back as he touches her, pinches her, runs his fingers all  
along her, and she knows she's growing needier, _**desires**_ him more by the  
moment, by every touch of his fingers. She wonders if he wants this as  
much as she does, because _oh, she does._ And she's not letting anything  
in the real world stop her from having this. Unless _**h e**_ stops this.

Her lungs are burning, her lips on fire, but she couldn't have pulled away  
if he hadn't, she can't get enough of his lips. But then as his mouth moves  
to her neck and he's taking over the skin there, a moan escapes, her eyes  
close in pure pleasure and _she knows_ she's done for. Her hands reach  
around to his back, still under his shirt, and she digs her nails in, his mouth  
creating that need deep within her. She doesn't know how much more of  
this she can take before she explodes.

" _ **Tom"**_

His name falls from her lips, hushed and desperate.

 _ **XXXXX**_

Jesus Christ, she was going to be the death of him. She truly was.  
He holds onto her as if she was his lifeline. His fingers pushed into  
her skin. Every single time her fingers are touching against his skin  
he feels as though he'll about to EXPLODE. Completely and utterly  
overwhelmed. She rolls her hips against him, and Thomas Chandler  
nearly loses it. A low moan escapes out of him, he can't feel bad  
about it, either.

His mouth is attacking her neck, hues looking at the bruises from  
her previous encounter—- he kisses the spots tenderly replacing  
the BAD memories into _hopefully_ better ones, even though he knew  
she'd never truly forget. His tongue flicks out, dragging along her  
skin tasting her. A breath leaving him when she says his name.

Determined, his hand is leaving her bare back quickly, finding her  
waistline in her jeans pulling at the button of it, without a single  
thought his hand is sliding it's way into her jeans, slipping right  
past her panties and hitting **home.** His two middle fingers slipping  
right into her, nearly _grinning_ at how wet she was already.

 _ **XXXXX**_

If there's one thing she doesn't ever want to forget about this it's all  
that's happening right now. She's unable to think about anything but  
him, his lips, his hands, his body. The terrible memories she'd thought  
she'd have from her encounter with Ruskov are quickly being replaced  
by _every touch of his_ , by his mouth or hands.

He's so gentle and she's having a hard time not stripping him and taking  
him because he's just being _**so damn good**_ to her after all that's happened.  
She's overwhelmed by the sensations he's giving her, the feelings he's  
causing her, and she wants him more than she's wanted anything, except  
maybe to find that cure. She's so wet for him and she's dying for him to  
know just how much.

And then as if he's read her mind, his hand is slipping into her jeans,  
and he's sliding two of his thick fingers right inside her and she sucks in a  
breath, biting down on her swollen lip to prevent the cry of pleasure that  
immediately rises in her throat. She changes the angle of her hips to give  
him as much access she as can. Though she hopes it's not long before her  
jeans are off. She's hoping he's noticed how **ready** she is for him, despite  
how long it's been since she's been intimate. She doesn't care. She wants  
him, all of him.

A wanting whimper comes from her and she _**pushes**_ herself against his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

The second his fingers are slipping inside of her, he curses himself for  
caving in. He won't want to stop **now.** She was so _hot_ and so fucking  
it causes _many_ things to the Captain, his chest getting tighter  
by the seconds passing. His palm is pressed against her little sensitive  
nub, pushing and pulling finding a slow **deep** rhythm that would surely  
she would enjoy.

Tom drags his lips across her collarbone, along her neck, to her jaw,  
 **finally** meeting her mouth once more capturing her into a deep kiss  
that makes him see _s._ While his other hand tangled in her dark  
locks, while his other hand worked at her, wondering how long she  
would LAST.

There was no regret yet. And he wonders if _there_ will be? Cause this  
feels **damn** good.

 ** _XXXXX_**

His kisses are leaving her breathless and his hand is driving her **mad**.  
His palm presses against her most sensitive bud at just the right angle  
and his fingers filling her is almost enough to push her over the edge  
right then. But she doesn't want to, not yet, because this is too delicious  
and _the build up to the fall_ is sometimes the best part.

Though she has a feeling when she finally gives in to the incredible  
feelings she has, she won't regret it in the slightest. She wonders if it'll  
be the best she's had. Because honestly, as he's kissing her with those  
lips, her heart skipping beat after beat, she's already feeling so lost in the  
oblivion that is Tom Chandler. And if his fingers feel **this** good…

His fingers move easily because she's so wet, but she wants _**more**_. Despite  
how good his digits feel, she suspects something else will feel even better.  
Her hand finds the hardened length through the heavy canvas pants, heat  
radiating from it. She rubs him continuously, giving him friction, as she  
pushes her hips against his hand at the same pace.

She gasps ever so quietly, pulling her head back to catch his dark blue eyes.

 _ **XXXXX**_

Tom wants her to climb over the edge just cause of his fingers _alone.  
_ He needs it. He needed it more then he SHOULD. His two fingers sink  
lower and lower, pushing and pulling, curling and twisting – his breath  
hitching against his throat, as he kisses her swollen lips. She tasted  
so damn good, curious if she'd taste even **better.**

The moment her hand runs along his harden length over his pants he  
curses himself mentally, well AWARE that he wouldn't last. He wouldn't  
last long _at all._ His palm presses against her clit purposely dipping his  
fingers low, _dragging_ them painfully upward to cause friction against  
his skin and her bud.

Tipping his head upward, her hair is falling is by his cheeks his gaze  
darker then ever, the lust in his gaze was far to intense. And fuck, there  
was no coming back from this. He swallows hard, sucking in a deep  
breath of air, his hand working faster and faster. _Needing_ her to come  
undone.

 ** _XXXXX_**

She wants to tell him _**how good it feels**_ and _**how close she is**_ , but she  
doesn't dare say a word. To their left is a sleeping Russian guard, and  
granted he looks like he's out cold, but she suspects that if she speaks,  
he'll wake up and separate them. And _that_ would be cruel.

Instead she catches his lip in her teeth, nibbling and letting out a small  
whimper as his fingers go deeper, so deep they could cross that delicious  
line of pleasure and pain, and his palm is rubbing her clit at just the perfect  
angle. Her breathing comes quicker, panting against him, spreading her  
legs as wide as she can while still in her jeans to _**encourage**_ him. She  
pushes her hips in time with his thrusts, riding his hand, taking his fingers  
as deep as he'll push them.

Her hand stops rubbing his hard-on because she's too enthralled in the  
things he's doing to her with his hand. Her forehead falls lightly against his,  
her hair shading them as she whispers his name, her muscles squeezing his  
fingers as she starts to fall. God, this feels fucking amazing, And then she's  
seeing red as her insides clench and she hits her climax, pleasure rolling  
through her, her whole body on fire, her wetness covering his fingers.  
Her head falls back and she bites her lip to keep her squeal in.

If he's this good with his hand….


	8. Chapter 8

God fucking _damn_ this space. If he were to have it his way, she'd be  
flat on her back legs spread so wide so he could **devour** her with his  
mouth, he settles with his hands. He doesn't even know if it could be  
 _possible_ to properly have his way with her. Tom doesn't think about  
the other male in the room. He can't. Rachel was all he could think  
about. All he could ACT upon.

He's sure gonna have sore lips after all of this. If he had chapped  
lips before…. She's taking his lip between her teeth, and he lets  
out a low moan in the back of his throat, chest tightening he feels  
on fucking **fire.** He felt so GOOD in command, but this? This was  
a whole different LEVEL. His arm is pumping faster and faster,  
the build up soon to release.

Tom's hues are watching her, he needs to see it. He needs to witness  
it himself, so he'll never forget. His gaze is so **dark** so needy, so enchanted.  
The moment her walls are tightening around his fingers, he doesn't let up.  
He continues his other hand coming up behind her neck gripping the back  
of it, watching as she tosses her head back as the wave flows right through  
her, utterly **satisfied.** Praying that she wouldn't make a _peep._ His breathing  
is staggered, hues remained on her. His fingers finally slow, not yet leaving  
her just yet.

' _ **Rachel,'**_

It comes out as a soft whisper.

 _ **XXXXX**_

She can't think of anything but the explosion in her belly, the feeling of  
his fingers still pumping in and out of her, and how hard she's trying to stay  
quiet. Her heart is racing and she can barely breathe. She's not sure she's  
felt anything this intense and that _scares_ her. Because if this feels _**this good,**_  
what else could he possibly make her feel? She wonders if it's because of  
the tension between them they've both been clearly ignoring, and then the  
kiss from earlier that ripped everything wide open. At least for her.

But as his fingers are buried deep inside her, she imagines probably for him too.

She feels like he's drawn every last bit of pleasure for her for this moment  
as his fingers began to slow, and every nerve-ending is on point, feeling  
every flex and shift of his slowing hand. Her bud is swollen and oh-so sensitive  
that her legs shake if he touches it. She's thrilled by the way he **handles** her.

Tom says her name, and it's the _**best sound**_ she's ever heard. He's never said  
it before, and she can't help but immediately open her eyes, tilt her head  
forward, his hand still on her neck. She locks her darker eyes with his dark,  
deep ocean-colored ones and she wonders if her face betrays the way her  
heart practically lept out of her chest at her name on his lips. She licks her  
lips, leans forward to lick her tongue over his own parched ones, and whispers..

"I **need** you."

XXXXX

He feels sick, sick because he's utterly pleased that he's made her  
come undone by just his **fingers** alone. Tom wasn't going to let that  
go to his head, not at all. But there's this lingering question on what  
he could possibly **do** to her when he's _fully_ inside of her? Yeah, he's  
a sick fuck. So pleased with himself, he could laugh. Watching her  
come undone had been the most glorious sights he has seen in so  
 _long._

Thomas is finally slipping his fingers out of her hot heat and he's  
relishing each second of it. He's like a **turtle.** Movements slow, but  
god damn _needed._ When was the last time she was properly finger  
fucked like that? He's leaving an impression. _Bastard._ Once his hand  
is free, lips twitch – and then she's kissing him again. He can't ever  
get ENOUGH.

He nearly moans at her confession. He's conflicted, he wants this more  
then anything in the world– _screw it._

' _ **Yeah–**_ me too. _'_

 _XXXXX_

His words draw a moan from her and it's all she can do to **not**  
come all over again, his voice so deep, so raspy. She's already  
missing his fingers and wants to replace them with something else.  
She's so ready for him, more now _than ever_.

She leans down, kissing him deeply once more, her tongue dueling  
with his, her swollen lips drinking him in. Should they do this? Is it  
even okay? She's having a hard time telling herself anything other  
than _**yes**_ because is there another answer?

She uses the time kissing him instead to think of a way for them to  
make this work and not get caught, not expose all of herself to the  
passed-out Russian. She rides him a little, making sure he's just as  
worked up as she is, her hands sliding up his chest to grip the fine  
muscles underneath. There's gotta be a way to make this work. She  
exhales against him, she can feel how hard he is between them, and  
she wants to _see_ him.

He's so tall but she thinks it'll work. She pulls her sweater over her head,  
revealing her low-cut camisole, the tops of her heaving breasts exposed,  
along with several marks that are the beginnings of bruises from Ruskov  
and his thugs. She ignores them, focuses solely on his eyes. She backs  
away from him a little. If they look like they're sleeping..

"Lay down, _on your side_."


	9. Chapter 9

Rachel _tastes_ like him. Actually tastes like him. She tastes like  
coffee. A fact that only he would like, it would drive her insane.  
As she much prefers her _tea._ The Captain could kiss this woman  
for hours and hours alone, almost **hoping** that no one would come  
and find them for quite some time.

Hands are roaming all over her skin again. Across her back, across  
her sides, everywhere he possibly can. Her hips are rolling against his,  
and fuck– he was going to lose it. **Soon.** Unless there's something  
else planned in her pretty smart mind.

She's taking her sweater off, his cock throbbing. The thin dark tank  
top she was wearing was hugging her curves, hands automatically  
grope them completely in her _spell._ She's telling him to lay down on  
his side, and he completely understands. And is a little taken back by  
 _her_ giving _him_ a command.

' _ **You're**_ sure about this?'

He was. More then so. More then he'd _liked._ The guilt would ruin him.  
But he's already shifting slightly, back on the cool ground and turning  
on his side facing the wall so his back would be seen by the Russian  
if it came down to it. _Quick and dirty._

"I've **never** been more sure."

XXXXX

Her words are whispery and wanting and she's wishing for his hands back  
on her breasts because that's _where they should be_. She slides in front of him,  
putting the heavy sweater on the dirty floor, for them to use as a pillow. She was  
going to cover their hips but as she's pressing her back against his chest, she  
realizes he can easily envelope her with his body because he's not a small  
man. The obvious realization makes her shudder.

Being this close to him is making her a full-on mess. And she's _**craving**_  
it by the second.

She's taking his hand and guiding it to her breast, pulling the fabric down  
and placing his hand right on the mound, sucking in a breath at how his  
large hand covers her fully. Once she's secured his hand there, she  
reaches behind her ass, and into his pants, her hand immediately coming  
in contact with his hard, hot cock. She gasps, wrapping her small fingers  
around the hard length. She wants him **now** , _no more foreplay._ She thinks  
she'll explode if she has to wait one more minute to feel him fill her.

The only thing about this position she hates is that she can't kiss him,  
because she had been enjoying that immensely.

XXXXX

His hand is running over his face, gripping at his jaw for a split second.  
Completely and utterly in Doctor Rachel Scott's spell. And he wonders  
when the hell all of this just– changed. The kiss? Or was it the build up?  
The banter was _there._ The **constant** need to protect her? The worry that  
she could slip right out of his fingers in an instant. Tom may never know.

She's confirming it. That she's _sure._ And his heart is heavy, so fucking  
heavy. Rachel slips herself right next to him, her ass completely pressed  
against him. The arm that's against his side is sliding under her head, for  
a pillow, while she's reaching for his other arm guiding his hand towards  
her breasts. He grits his jaw tightly, hand towering over one of her breasts,  
giving it a squeeze before his index and thumb are rolling against her hard  
bud.

Tom's eyes roll the second her slim fingers are wrapping around his length,  
a small groan escaping him. As much as he wants to fondle her breasts  
longer, he can't _wait._ His hand comes up to her jeans pulling them down just  
 _enough,_ along with her panties, a breath leaving him as he grabs his own  
navy khaki's and pushing them down barely, waiting a beat to make sure  
she was ready.

She lays on his arm as he extends it underneath her head, and she's not  
sure if she's ever felt more safe than she does in this moment. Despite their  
precarious situation, she knows he'd never let anything happen to her, if he  
could prevent it. There's something about that that makes her heart swell  
and sends another rush between her legs. He's so strong, confident, secure.  
Lethal. He's a trained killing machine, and yet a war-analyst who speaks  
four languages–that she knows of. Brilliant doesn't cover it. And again,  
there's that desire, that want. And she's wondering it if it actually runs  
deeper than what's happening between them in this moment.

XXXXX

As he rolls her nipple between his fingers, she lets out a hushed, strangled  
moan,leaning her head back into his shoulder. He's so _**warm**_ , and his hand  
is so big. She's so frenzied with desire inside, though she's trying to keep it  
together while she feels him pushing down her jeans. She lifts her his to  
help him, and then hears his belt just slightly as he fusses with it, and she's _**  
panting in anticipation**_.

She pushes her now bare as back toward him, trying to rub against his length.  
And then she feels it, so hard and hot and she rolls her head into his arm,  
suppressing another moan. Part of her hopes he takes her roughly, because  
that would make this whole _doing it on the floor of a brig_ all the more delightful.

She briefly wonders what kind of man he is in bed. Is he similar to how  
he is as a captain? She's hoping she doesn't have to wait much longer  
to find out, pushing her ass back against him again.

"Tom…. **please**."


	10. Chapter 10

They're screwed if they get caught. Completely and utterly screwed.  
As a Captain, he wouldn't even _know_ what to do himself if he caught  
someone else in this current situation. & the fact that they were now  
prisoners the Russian ship. Kill them? Separate them? Or worse?  
Ruskov could _damage_ her. This will have to be quick, even **if** he didn't  
WANT it to be quick. Tom wants it to be the way _he_ wants it. On his  
terms.

His shoulders are are long, he's a tall man, he can practically see her  
roll her face into shoulder, mouth coming up to place kisses across  
any exposed skin he can possibly find. Her ass rubbing against his  
aching length, cursing under his breath. She was _toying_ with him. If  
she keeps it up, he'll explode before they even _begin._

Taking his free hand to his length, aligning it up to her center and he's  
filling her completely. Eyes rolling, a low groan escaping him.

' _ **Christ,'**_

It's muffled, hand coming up to her hip gripping it tightly, pulling her  
closer as he rolls his hips back and fourth finding a steady rhythm for  
a moment, dragging his thrusts slowly letting the sensation build up.  
 _As if it wasn't already._ He's growing impatient, the desire completely  
washing over him, fingers pressing into her skin his movements getting  
deeper, and harder.

XXXXX

She feels him shift behind her and she's anxiously awaiting the delicious  
intrusion she knows will come. She arches her back, opening herself up to  
him as best she can, her jeans still around her legs. She knows it'll be a  
tight fit but she's not complaining. She's so worked up, she thinks she  
might come again as soon as he enters her. She's dying to see if she might.

And then he's sliding inside her, _stretching her, filling her_ completely and  
she bites down on his arm to keep from making any sound. Because oh  
how she wants to. His cock hits every spot, fills her to the brim and she can  
already tell by the fit that she's not far off from another incredible orgasm.

He feels amazing, and so does his hand on her hip, fingers digging into  
her skin. She keeps her back arched, meeting his thrusts, the friction of  
him sliding in and out mixed with her legs bound tightly together by her  
jeans is enhancing the sensations. She naturally wants to spread her legs  
for him but she can't and something about that makes this hotter.

She takes a _**chance**_ and entwines her fingers in the hand by her head. She  
needs something to hold on to, to squeeze because otherwise she'll be  
crying out momentarily. She feels that burn start again in her lower  
abdomen, and she's welcoming his deeper, harder thrusts, small moans  
and whimpers escaping her.

" _ **Fuck, Tom,"**_

It comes out as a hiss, and she's so close, but can't get enough.  
She wishes they had more time.

XXXXX

He can't remember the last time he's ever had his blood flowing this  
quick before, his heart hammering against his chest. The anticipation  
was _good,_ but this? Oh this was so much better than what he could  
ever imagine.

Rachel is tight, tighter then a woman could possibly be. He supposes,  
they _were_ out in the sea for 4 months, and then some after that. Her  
tightness just welcomes him even more, he wants her even more. &  
now he has her. On a limited time frame. With each pull and push with  
his hips, it's a sore position. He would've preferred her on her back,  
or on top– but it'll do. He's sinking lower and lower, walls **already**  
getting tight, and he's groaning out into her hair, into _something._

He needs something different— his hand releases her hip, and wraps  
around her thigh, and lifting it slightly so her leg is propped up, easier  
access, his hips rolling into a completely natural **passionate** rhythm.

They're not going to last any longer. He's **not** going to last. She's cursing  
out, whispering his name. He moans _again,_ pumping into her harder and  
harder, hues closing as the sensation overpowers him.

XXXXX

When he lifts her leg, she knows she's done for. He slides deeper now,  
further into her than before, and he moved his hips with such ease that  
she's overcome with pleasure. She licks and nips at the arm under her  
head, holding his hand _so tightly_.

She feels her toes start to curl and she's trying to memorize everything  
about how he's filling her, how he feels inside her from tip to base, because  
she knows it'll be over too soon. She turns her head, trying to catch him,  
his lips, wanting to taste him again. Next time–if there ever should be  
such a thing, and she damn sure hopes so, though she's not holding her  
breath, he has a _**wife**_ she refuses to think about–she wants him on top of  
her, so she can hold him and kiss him like she wants to.

She doesn't even feel the pain in her hip from the hard ground, the  
dampness under them, and doesn't think about the guard. She can only  
focus on what it feels like to be against him, his manhood wrapped up  
inside her warmth.

Her insides start to quiver and she's dying to take him with her, He's  
always in control, always in command. She wants to feel him lose it.  
Because he's certainly capable of taking _**her**_ there.

XXXXX

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._ He's chanting it in his head, simply because  
he can't voice it. The moment her leg is at an angle, he's easing right  
into her, she's biting at his arm and she's driving hi y. His  
fingers are locked with her own, not letting go.

His thrusts are growing faster, the slickness between them was almost  
unbearable. His chest is burning, the desire in him was so strong, he  
almost forgot what it was LIKE. Tom feels her sweet lips against his,  
tongue sliding across her lower lip, tasting sinfully delicious. Teeth nip  
just lightly at her lip, pulling it between his teeth, and then capturing  
her into another deep kiss.

It was there. He was close. She was close. His hand eases her leg back  
down, while he slides his arm across her torso to find her sweet little clit,  
his middle finger grazing at it before he circles the bud, his cock sliding  
in and out of her so smoothly, he was starting to become breathless,  
her walls caving in around his length, pumping into her, a deep groan  
escaping him eyes rolling back into his head as his orgasm crashes right  
into him.

XXXXX

His kiss leaves her breathless and she didn't realize how much she was  
missing it until his lips are on hers. That can't be a good sign. She needs  
his kisses like she _needs_ the air she can't quite seem to get into her  
lungs, but honestly, she wants his kisses more. And as he nips at hers  
and then drowns her completely with his mouth, she'd prefer these to  
air _any day_.

Her legs rest back together and she whimpers, her head falling back  
against his arm because there's **so much** friction again. His arm around  
her waist is welcome and wanted, and as soon as his skilled finger slides  
over her sensitive bud once…twice…she's gone, squeezing him inside her,  
milking him for all he's worth, because _ **goddamn**_ all she wants is him  
buried deep inside her as she lets go.

His groan tells her he's there too, and the sound elicits a sweet moan from  
her own lips, followed by another rush of wetness between her legs and the  
unnerving clenching of her tightness around him. It comes in waves, and  
she can't catch her breath, her legs shaking, her toes curling. God he feels  
incredible and she can't think of anything else but his name in her mind  
being repeated over and over, wishing she could praise him out loud  
because he deserves to know how fucking _outstanding_ he's making her  
feel. Has she ever felt _this good_ , come this hard? She can't be sure.

She lets one slip out amidst her moment of weakness, her head leaning  
back into his, her back pressing firmly into his chest as she tries to find  
the proverbial ground in this moment. It's hushed and frantic.

" _fuck,_ _ **Tom**_ "


	11. Chapter 11

The pure ecstasy had been so POWERFUL he felt like he couldn't even  
catch a breath. Her legs spasm, and he sucks in a slow breath, finally–  
He wants to do this all over again. He _could_ do this all over again. In so  
many different ways. It was a fucking miracle that they didn't get caught.

He's still inside her, he rocks his hips once, twice then three times before  
slowly pulling out, his hand slipping down further sliding between her folds  
and into her sweetness. He's _toying_ with her, he can't help it. He _knows._  
She's cursing, calling him by his **name.** And he's still got his eyes closed.  
Relishing this. All of it before it was over to fucking soon.

He squeezes her hand lightly, neck lifting slightly to bite at her neck. Just  
once.

' _ **I know.**_ I _know._ Trust me, I know.'

He lets his hand go, hand reaching for her hair smoothing it out, while his fingers  
run down her skin, sighing softly. This ending far to soon.

XXXXX

Despite how sated she is now, she wants this again, in _all the different  
ways_. Her insides are still quaking and her legs feel weak. She gasps  
as he moves within her a few more times before she gasps again,  
 _sadly_ , at the loss. She whimpers, she wants him back, can already  
feel herself growing wet again, wanting more. How is that even **possible**?

When he touches her, slides his fingers against her sensitive flesh,  
she bucks her hips, another expletive leaving her lips, but she says  
it with **t**. This man knows exactly how it's done and she's  
yearning, wanting, _panting_ at his touch.

The tender squeeze of his hand, the bite on her neck that lights her  
belly up like fireworks, mixed with his words…she's enamored. This  
can't be it? They're not really in a cell, being held prisoner. They  
can do it again, right? God, she fucking wants to.

Rachel rolls over to face him, her hand settling on his side, her head  
still on his arm. She's feeling bold, and still all riled up, and she blames  
 _ **those cyan eyes**_. She reaches up, grasping behind his strong neck,  
pulling his large body toward her, albeit roughly, capturing his lips in  
a deep kiss. Her jeans are still down, they're both still **exposed** , and  
with the way she's pulled him on her, she can feel his cock against her  
hip. _Another_ flood of wetness fills her folds and she's ready for more.  
Goddamn this man for being so **addictive**.

She reaches down with the hand between them, leaving the other one  
still on his neck, her lips still attacking his, and grasps his length, _**squeezing**_.

XXXXX

Tom finally opens his cyan hues, looking over at her, watching as she  
turns to face him. He can see her dark eyes that had been mirroring  
his own. He doesn't know if he'll ever come back from this, ever. The  
way she _fits_ him. It makes him feel like a terrible human being, yet,  
he still refuses to let her go.

His lips are on hers, tongue across her lower lip, the tightness against  
her fingers on her neck cause him to groan, and then her hand is fucking  
slipping between then, and **god.** Eyes roll, and he lets out a breath, head  
dipping low. What was she trying to do? Kill them?

He can't control his hips, he rolls them into hand slowly. Relishing the  
friction. She was on fire. He was on fire. He never wanted this to STOP.

& he wondered how long they could keep this up until their Russian woke  
up.

XXXXX

She looks up at him as she strokes him, as he thrusts against her hand,  
and she grips him tightly, watching what it does to him. She wants to  
 **please** him like he pleased her, _needs_ to do so.

She captures his lips again, her eyes staying open a brief moment to watch his  
face and she sees movement past him. It's _slight_ but it's there, and it's  
the door to the brig opening. She doesn't dare speak but pulls her lips  
and hand away abruptly, her eyes wide with terror. She's **PISSED** they're  
being interrupted at first, but then immediately _**terrified**_ for their lives.

She puts her one finger to his lips, her eyes **pleading** , while using his body  
as a cover to attempt to pull up her jeans with her other hand.

One Russian guard is yelling at the sleeping one and it seems he's distracted  
momentarily with his lazy counterpart. She looks back at Tom briefly; he needs  
to cover himself and she needs her sweater.

Under normal circumstances she'd feel badly about having to stop  
where they are; she would never purposefully leave him wanting.  
A small part of her eyes are apologetic, but the rest is filling  
with fear quickly. Maybe if they _pretend they're asleep_ …


	12. Chapter 12

They whisper Russian tones that half of them think he does not know.  
Sadly for them, he does. They have conspiracy theories. Thomas will  
not give them what they want. For him to **talk.** Why in the world would  
he give in? There was no point in it. None at all. He's not exactly worried.  
Nor would he start to be worried for his own safety. The Captain knows  
what he can handle, and what he can't. After the fifth blow, blood surely  
flowing down his cheek. He sighs.

It wasn't a sigh of DEFEAT. It was a sigh for RACHEL. She wouldn't STOP.  
Didn't she know? She's pleading, begging, crying. He can't even TRY to  
get a glimpse of her, the Russians give him another punch in the face when  
he tries.

They want her to watch.

It doesn't settle well. When Ruskov asks him more questions, he gives him  
a cold blank stare. Finally,

' _ **My**_ name is Thomas Chandler,  
Commander, United States Navy,  
serial number 4242022634.'

Ruskov get's his hands dirty, and he ends up on the ground. Face pressed  
against the cold dirty ground. He doesn't FLINCH. It's what he wanted. He  
looks at Rachel, gives her a _smile._ But then guards are moving forward, the  
cell opening– and she's yelling, fighting against them, ( he could be so proud.)  
and taking her AWAY. His heart aching. In hopes, they wouldn't have to be  
apart so SOON.

XXXXX

Rachel listens to his words, knows they are to protect him–though she's  
not sure what good it's doing him. She watches Ruskov slam him to the  
ground (he's a big man to manipulate in that way–she's surprised  
Ruskov could get him down) and catches Tom's blue eyes, that smile,  
blood on his face. She can't help but soften her angry, upset gaze.  
He's the strongest, bravest man she's ever met. The Navy told her he  
was the best, he **IS** the best. In this moment it shines through.

She's in deeper than she thought with her feelings. _Shit._

She's caught off guard as the cell door opens and they're pulling  
her out. She's not leaving him. She kicks, and fights with all her  
might, but she's too small against these brutes and she has no  
chance. That doesn't stop her from fighting against their arms.

She catches his eyes as they pull her past him and out the door of  
the small brig. She has an idea of where they're taking her and she's  
not pleased. She can't help them without her samples from the  
 _Nathan James_. She thinks about the gun Burk stowed. She hopes it's  
still there. If she could just get into her box…

XXXXX

He's a little hesitant to get placed BACK in that cell. He doesn't want  
it. Not the slightest of bits. But, he'll play this game. The waiting game.  
He knows what time to escape. He just had hoped Tex would be right  
there with him. He has _no_ **idea** the hell he was. He's ordered to stand  
with his hands behind his back. Tom doesn't know how long the time  
passes. But **Tex** is joining him. _Finally._

Tom doesn't talk about Rachel with Tex. He can't. Or he will explode.  
He _really_ will.

The spot that his friend was sitting was the same spot Rachel had been  
sitting in when he practically assaulted her with his own fingers. The  
thought alone causes shivers. Glancing down at his watch, it was go time.  
He was ready to be off of this ship. Even _if_ his crew members would have  
to answer to him when he returns. They had an order, they completely  
went behind his back and sent the most important person on their ship  
without a single worry.

 _ **EVERYTHING**_ goes SMOOTHLY. So smoothly, it seemed wrong. Something  
was bound to go WRONG. He see's Cossetti. They find Kelly and Ava. Done.  
Now it was time to find Rachel. With the radio in his back pocket, the gun  
at his shoulder, gripping it at his hands as they find their way towards the  
Lab. He hears a gun go off, his crew already in the door. _Doctor! Put down  
the gun! Doctor!_He covers his blind spots, and enters the room eyes scanning  
at the dead Russian, a bullet square in the forehead. He swallows, cyan hues  
look up at Rachel. She's _terrified._ He steps forward, putting his gun down.  
Everyone else is yelling, he's calm.

' _ **It's okay,'**_

 _ **XXXXX**_

The Russians take her to the lab and they're _demanding_ she figure  
it out. She doesn't know if she can. **BUT** this is her chance to get  
in the box. Ruskov is distracted with Tom and she's got her box right  
there. She just needs to get the gun, put the silencer on and she's  
golden. She'll kill these two and go back for Tom. She can **do it**.

They're staring at her over the top of the box and she's trying to get  
the silencer on the gun quietly. Burk made it look **so** damn easy and  
here she is and she can't do it. Fuck. Her heart is racing a mile a minute.  
If she could just get….

 _Fuck it_. She pulls the gun out, hauls off and shoots one the Russian  
soldiers in the soldier. She aims again and gets him square in the  
forehead. Terror and fear are racing through her and she can't believe  
what she's just done. She just fucking _**killed someone**_ **.** Panic courses  
through her veins and then she sees people. But she's so zoned in on  
the dead guy, _the blood._ She's full on panicking, swinging the gun toward  
the voice asking her to put it down. She knows the voice but it doesn't  
register. She's entirely _**overwhelmed**_.

Out of her peripheral she sees someone step toward her, and she's pulling  
the trigger before she can stop herself because by GOD will she handcuffed again.

It's only after she does that she realizes that it was _**the one person**_ she  
should not have shot.


	13. Chapter 13

_Doctor! PUT THE GUN DOWN!_ He could've told them not to be so…  
demanding. Their tones a little _gentler._ He hadn't. He hadn't uttered  
a word. Doctor Rachel Scott was a brilliant and STRONG woman.  
He should've **known.** They put a _GUN_ in her case. He doesn't know  
weather he's pissed or not. She could've gotten herself HURT. Now  
there was a CRIMSON pool surrounded the Russians head. Burk had  
been _still_ yelling. He's inching closer, and closer….

 _It's okay._ He hoped that she would've just lowered the gun. He had HOPED.

The burning sensation doesn't hit him until he's on the ground. Everything  
a BLUR. He's been shot before, twice. Hues are looking straight up at the  
ceiling. He's breathing in and out, slowly. Everyone is crowding around him,  
Tom can't _think._ He needs to think.

' _ **Back**_ up. Back up—'

He's trying to figure out how to move, finally– sitting up a tare in his navy's.  
The bullet's in his thigh. How he's not bleeding out is BEYOND him. Acting  
fast, he doesn't look at her just yet. Hands are acting quick, ripping out his  
belt the leather SNAPPING at his fingers, he doesn't FLINCH at the contact.  
He's wrapping it around the wound, and pulling as tight as he possibly can.  
A low groan escaping his mouth, hissing– and then he's standing. It was  
utter CHOAS. Everyone screaming, shouting. They still had to full fill their  
MISSION. Tom doesn't put much weight in his leg, he _can't._ He looks over  
at Rachel, hand extending to grab the gun from her. Two fingers wrap around  
her wrist, almost letting her know he's _okay._

 _XXXXX_

She can barely move. She's in the only doctor in the room and she  
can _**barely move**_. She just shot Tom. In the leg. HIS LEG. She could  
swear she's about to have a full on panic attack. She cannot even  
step forward to help him because she cannot believe what she's just done.

Before she can finally get herself together, he's made a tourniquet  
out of his belt and he's _standing_. She can hardly believe she's shot  
him in the thigh and now he's standing up and reaching for the gun  
in her hand, the gun she _shot him with_. Her eyes are wide as she  
looks up at him. She's trying to find the words.

" **Tom**! Tom..I..I am sorry. I..I don't know–"

Her expression resembles one of a wild mustang's, ready to flee at  
any moment, untrusting. He's holding her wrist, and she finds comfort  
in it. But his _leg_ …her eyes flicker to the bleeding wound _ **S H E**_ caused.

She wants to close her eyes, wants to go back in time and prevent this  
from happening. This is no like her. _She doesn't make mistakes_.  
She **owes** him for this.

" _Let me look at your leg!"_

She finds her voice, attempts to sound stern,  
instead sounds **weak**.

XXXXX

The _**pain**_ he was in was the most surreal and crucial thing to happen  
to him in this moment. The team is just STARING at him with wide  
eyes, as if he was GOD. His leg threatens to bring him DOWN but he  
cannot. Not even the slightest bit. One more WRONG move they wouldn't  
be getting off this terrible ship.

She's frantic, throwing words in the air. He knows, god, of course he knows!  
She didn't need to explain to him. Who NEEDED to explain was whoever put  
the gun there in the first place. Rachel would be traumatized for life. For  
taking another's man life. It wasn't something ONE can come back from easily.  
He doesn't let go of her wrist, not once. He's quiet, a little too quiet.

' _ **We**_ need to move out.  
You can look at my leg  
later, M' fine.'

 _Liar._ He WILL be fine. Cossetti has his team, Captain's got his. He's going  
to pay for hell for this, not using a crutch. Not sitting down. _Moving_ quickly  
on his feet. Before he knows it, they're out were the extraction team was  
waiting for them. Shots fired, he reacts an arm goes to shield Rachel, while  
he points, aims, and FIRES. Taking one of them out, while Tex has his back.

' _ **Come**_ on, ladies first.'

XXXXX

She's still staring at him, wide-eyed and terrified. She **KILLED** a man  
and shot THE CAPTAIN of their ship. She shot _**TOM**_. She wants to laugh  
at how upset she was when they were punching him. At least they didn't _  
shoot him_. Nope, she did that herself. _God Damnit, Rachel!_ She curses  
herself. At least he's not leaving her behind, which she's feeling a little bit  
like she deserves.

His hand is still on her wrist as he guides her out of the room and to the  
extraction point. She doesn't want to wait until later to look at him, she  
wants to examine him right _now_. If he dies from blood loss because of her own  
stupid, panic-ridden state she'll just…she can't even _think_ about that right now.

He's shielding her from the flying bullets and in all honesty she does feel  
safe. The terror has not subsided, but he's by her side, his arm around  
her, protecting her. She owes him for saving her life. For _shooting him_.

And to think, a little over an hour ago they were in each others arms,  
on the floor of that dirty cell. She sighs inwardly.

She's encouraged first into the RHIB and she goes hesitantly down the  
ladder, wants to make sure he's coming behind her. Wants to make sure  
he doesn't **fall** on that injured leg. She wonders where the ship is, how  
long it'll take them to get back. She _**needs**_ to check his wound.


	14. Chapter 14

Tom feels a little light headed, but he shakes it off. There's Russians  
swarming around them, and his team takes most of them out. Ava  
was next, Kelly, he's **LAST** **.** With many protests, but he doesn't care.  
He needs to make sure all of his men and women are safe on the RHIB.  
It takes him awhile to get down the ladder, ( a long time. ) it makes him  
feel **old.**

He's HAPPY to have this chapter of their hectic lives end. The Russians.  
Always on their trail. Always after _her._ And she was always so EAGER to  
leave. As if she hadn't touched any of the lives in his ship. When the wind  
is in his short grey hair, he just– _breathes._

Eyes finally make their way over to Scotts, it's dark. He can't exactly make  
out what's hidden in them, she's to FAR away. They'll be on the Nathan  
James soon enough. Tom looks down at the belt, almost caked in his own  
blood. He presses his lips into a thin line, swallowing hard as he balls a fist.  
In, and out. Keeping himself moving, afraid if he STILLED he would be gone  
from this world, and a beautiful doctor couldn't save him again.

He doesn't utter a word when he gets to the ship. They lost one of their own.  
Cossetti. The one who MADE the extraction team work. And he was just….  
GONE. He doesn't even look at the XO. Doesn't utter a word. Slowly but surely,  
he makes his way into his Captain Quarters, nearly collapsing against his  
bed, ripping the belt off and shedding his navy's off. Overall, he was simply  
 _ **PISSED**_.

XXXXX

He's last on the RHIB and she's annoyed by his ever-so-heroic behavior.  
And once he's on it, he's far from her and doesn't say _**a word.**_ And then  
Cossetti is dead and this is all so freaking devastating. They lost a good  
man's life, and their Captain is wounded. And she's feeling like this is  
all her fault.

They get back to the _Nathan James_ and he tries to disappear without  
a word. **NOPE**. _Not happening._

She heads to her stateroom quickly, gathering her medical supplies. She's  
going to look at that leg if she has to _tie him down_ to do so. She will fix this,  
she will fix **h i m**. He's not bleeding out on her watch. He's not losing that leg.  
The bullet was probably still buried in the deep muscle that was his thigh.

With the thought of his leg, as she is walking to his stateroom, her mind goes  
back again to what they shared on the Vyerni. That foolish moment of **l u s t**  
that won't leave her. The way he had _played_ with her, the way he felt _inside_  
her, the way she **cared** about him. Her heart is burning, and so are her eyes.  
At least thinking about him keeps from her from thinking about the man she killed.

That thought makes her stomach drop, and her hands feel numb. She almost  
drops her bag. She **killed** a man today. She usually _saves_ them. She's undone  
by her behavior.

She knocks on the door in front of her, _his door_ , and holds her breath,  
steeling herself.

"Open up, Captain. I know you're in there."

Despite her stern voice, her face is white. She feels cold. She needs to  
know he's okay.

XXXXX

The second his navy khaki's are off his legs, he looks down at the mess  
in front of him. A heavy sigh escapes him, fingers running through his  
short hair. Leaning back against his bed, arm throwing over his shoulder.  
Letting everything finally…. _**sink in.**_

The last twenty four hours had been the most tiring over the past four  
whole months on this ship. Tom could EASILY take four months of  
scoping out targets in the Arctic. But swimming for countless hours?  
Getting roasted in the sun? The acceptance of **DEATH?** And the mere  
thought of going back home? Getting sent to the Vyerni? The sight of  
Rachel bloody and bruised? Their _kisses?_ Being _with_ her? Beaten? And  
then getting SHOT at? That, that was a little _much._

She's knocking, and he doesn't know if he has it in him to FIGHT her.  
Rubbing a hand down his face, not moving.

' _ **It's open.'**_

 _ **XXXXX**_

Gingerly she turns the knob. She suddenly feels _**tired**_. The sun has  
already risen and she feels like she's been up for days. She feels  
like she could sleep _for days_. And she feels stiff. She can't imagine  
what she must look like, didn't even stop to see in the mirror in her  
stateroom.

She pushes open the door and at first she doesn't see his large form.  
She closes the door behind her, peering around the large stateroom.  
She hasn't been in here before now, she realizes. There was no reason  
for her to be. She looks around, taking in the various computer screens,  
the low light shining from a lamp on the desk. He has very nice living  
quarters. _He's the captain, after all,_ she thinks to herself. She steps forward  
peering toward an opening, and she seems him laying back on the bed,  
legs exposed. And the blood all over his thigh. Her heart **clenches**.

" _ **Oh, Tom**_ _._ "

Her words are soft as she steps forward, tentative, as if he'll push her away.  
She needs towels, wet ones, to clean the wound. She has alcohol and  
disinfectant but that will be so painful. She wants to clean it with water first.

The sight of his boxers brings back memories again of their moments  
together, and she tries to draw her eyes away from **that area** and back  
toward his wound. She then looks up to his handsome face, and notices  
he looks as exhausted as she feels.

" **I'm so sorry."**


	15. Chapter 15

The male feels absolutely terrible for not talking with anyone. What was  
he supposed to say? You didn't obey my orders? Who _is_ Captain? It  
was all so **tricky.** And he was so tired. So fucking tired, he could sleep  
for HOURS. When he's cleaned up, he'll go talk to Slattery, give him a  
full run on what had happened. And question who gave him the ORDER  
to send out the birds to waste precious gas they didn't have in the first  
place.

And then there was Rachel. Half his torso is supported by his pillows, he  
moves his arm away to be able to look at her. She looks just as exhausted  
as he did, he's sure of it. She's has a black eye forming, his stomach flipping.  
Hating what they _did_ to her, all because she didn't have the makings of a  
C U R E. He breathes in and out slowly, sitting up slowly drinking her all in.  
It takes EVERYTHING in his power not to bring her into him. It _really_ does.

His leg is on fire. That's why she's hear. To patch him all up, and make him  
better.

' _ **You**_ don't have to be sorry.  
Don't you even _feel_ sorry. It's  
not your fault. You pulled the  
trigger, but your mind wasn't  
in it. I _get_ it. **I'm** sorry you had  
to go through that.'

XXXXX

She takes one step, and then another toward him, trying to gauge how  
he _is_. Both hands hold the pack in front of her legs, and she's _tentative._  
Searching those oh-so-blue eyes. She could get lost in them for days,  
even with how exhausted he looks. She takes another step, and finds  
herself next to him.

She listens to his words, _hears_ him, and can't help the tears that form.  
She's so tired, she blames the exhaustion for her emotions. Or maybe  
it's that she almost lost him. His words are kind, and _he's apologizing_.  
An incredulous look passes over her bruised and beaten features.

"I..I _shot you_. I **AM** sorry."

She stares at the bullet wound a moment, before looking back up  
to his honest eyes. A shaky hand reaches out and touches his arm.

"May I look at it? **Please**?"

She needs his permission. She doesn't want to touch him out of turn.  
Though she really _wishes_ he wasn't wounded so _she could hold him._  
She has never in her life wanted to be held more than she does in  
this moment, after the ridiculous last twenty-four hours they've had.

XXXXX

She's being incredibly cautious. Wondering, if one of the crew had  
tipped her off. When he was in a _mood,_ don't **mess** with the Captain.  
It was a GOLDEN rule. Slowly, but surely she's right next to him. Her  
perfume still was lingering. Just slightly, but he could still smell it.  
It warms him, soothes him. When his flesh was literally burning.

Tom shifts slightly, back turning to face her he can see the small tears  
form in her eyes, she's being so stubbornly strong. He places a gentle  
hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Reassuring her that she  
REALLY didn't need to be apologizing to him, but to HERSELF. She'd  
soon realize what he means. The terrors she'll face. He never wanted  
that for her, for **anyone.**

He waves his hand over it, encouraging her to do it.

' _ **Go right**_ ahead. I'd much rather  
like to keep my leg. Think you can  
get it out?'

Tom needs to **know** what's going in that head of hers.

XXXXX

His hand on her shoulder soothes her a little–knowing he's not mad  
at her is helping the situation. She takes a breath, biting her lips,  
holding in the tears. She's not going to cry. He doesn't need to  
comfort her, she needs to comfort him. She's got a job to do.  
To clean up this mess she's made.

She swallows hard, looking at the blood, and then back him as he  
gives her permission to help him. She feels relieved. Despite wanting  
his touch to stay on her, she needs to investigate the hole. She sets  
her bag next to him on the bed, not bothering to glove her hands.  
He'd been inside her for goodness sakes. A shiver runs through her.

She touches the area gently, wondering how deep the bullet might  
actually be. She flexes her small jaw, looking up at him, her  
eyelashes fluttering a bit.

"I think so. This is probably going to hurt. Your ship doesn't have  
much local anesthetic."

She takes a few rags from her bag, moves to the small bathroom to  
wet them. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and she's  
immediately embarrassed and horrified. Between the split lip, the  
bruised cheek, and the black eye, she looks like she's been in a cage  
fight. The bruise up the side of her neck is dark and she cringes,  
remembering how she got it. She tries to wipe quickly at the dried  
blood on her forehead. She remembers how Tom had pressed the  
fabric to her head, stopping the bleeding. She's about to pay him  
back for that.

She turns the water off and steps out of the bathroom with the wet  
towels. She places a few dry ones under his leg, anticipating more blood.  
She pulls out the small tube of local anesthetic and bites her lip again.

" _ **This will sting."**_


	16. Chapter 16

The hand on her shoulder doesn't really let up. He doesn't want it to just  
yet. All of this– it hasn't CRASHED into him hard. The thoughts, but the  
emotions side, not yet. It will. He's putting up a front, a 'I'm pissed at the  
world' front. In which, is the complete and utter truth. Tomorrow would  
be a new day. A different day. Much different, with so much that had  
changed. So fucking much.

Tom watches her carefully and slowly, taking in her every single movement.  
He was _**not**_ going to have another episode of what happened in the other  
lab. No one will get shot. Or hurt. He will _be there_ for her. When it all catches  
up with her.

' _ **Yeah,**_ well we're kind of out in the  
middle of nowhere. Trying to save  
the world. Can't really take any pit  
stops when someone gets hurt.'

It's a light playful tone that's slipping out of his mouth. To much at stake.  
Rachel's moving again, into his small bathroom. And he breathes.  
His white sheets were covered in his blood, his legs nearly matching  
the color of the sheets. Pale white. Ghostly white. If she didn't get this  
under control soon, he didn't know how much longer he HAD. Cyan hues  
look up at her, lips parting trying to read her expression. He knows it will.

' _ **I can**_ handle it.'

XXXXX

She's sure he thinks he can, but whether he can, she's not actually sure.  
Her mind switches gears, Dr. Rachel Scott appearing from somewhere  
deep within. She need to focus. He's losing a lot of blood and she doesn't  
have any to give him. She needs to sew up the wound before this gets  
any worse.

" _ **I'm sure you can."**_

There is strength in her tone and she feels more like herself. She's focusing  
on her work. She slathers the ointment on his thigh, blowing on it, hoping  
it sinks in and numbs his red skin. Luckily the hole is not a gaping one,  
it'll be easy to stitch. She pulls out her small forceps, her hand resting  
firmly on his thigh.

"Please hold still as best you can. I'll be _as quick_ as I can."

She says the words gently but reassuringly. Despite his strong exterior, she  
needs him to know she'll work quickly and thoroughly. She's not sure what  
he can or can't feel. And she's ignoring how high the wound is on his thigh  
and how close her hand is to other areas.

He's lost a lot of blood and as she begins to stick the forceps into his leg,  
more blood pools out. She works quickly, feeling around for the hard object.  
There's only so far it could go, she rationalizes. The bullet didn't hit his  
femoral artery and that gives her hope it's a shallow shot.

XXXXX

Thomas turns his cheek lightly, studying her features. They're now  
much softer then the earlier ones she was giving him in the Vyerni.  
Which was quite funny to him, she's supposed to be in Doctor mode.  
And he's never seen her so RELAXED. She'd doing what she thinks  
is best. It's what she _does._ He feels confident she'll find the bullet.  
And he'll be on his feet in no time.

She's **blowing** against his skin. He doesn't let his mind go there, he  
will _not._ He can feel some of the skin start to slowly go numb. It  
wasn't a lot, but it was still working. She's touching his thigh, his  
lips turning into a thin line. He hopes, she will be quick.

Tom doesn't like to show signs of being WEAK. And right now? He  
feels all kinds of being exposed, in the worst possible ways. He hates  
it. Fingers grip at his sheets, chest rising and falling. A hiss is escaping  
his lips as the forceps slips into his skin. He doesn't even realize he's  
holding his own breath until he starts to see STARS.

' _ **Christ**_ **.** Can you get it?'

He doesn't know how much _more_ he can TAKE. And he can **take** a lot.  
Cyan hues close, groans escaping his mouth as he dips his head back,  
gritting his teeth trying to let the pain wave out.

XXXXX

She feels sick at his groans, is trying to focus, _to find it_. Seeing him so  
vulnerable is hurting her deep in her soul, because she knows this is hard  
for him. He is not one to accept treatment or care, always puts others  
first. She realizes he must know how grave things could get, if he were  
to get an infection or lose any more blood. She's working quickly,  
doesn't dare look up at him, for she knows she'll stop trying because  
his expression will be more than she care bear.

 _ **THERE!**_ She feels the hard tip of the bullet, grasps it, pulling it out  
with the forceps. In response to his demand of whether she can get it,  
she holds up the gold piece.

"Would you like to keep it as a souvenir of your time spent on the  
now sunken Russian war ship?"

She adds a hint of play to her voice, setting the bloody bullet down on the  
towel and getting to work cleaning the open wound. It's small, a few  
stitches and a dressing will be just enough, and she'll need to clean it  
and check it once a day, as long as he stays off it enough to let it start  
to heal.

"Just a few more minutes and you'll  
be **good as new**."


	17. Chapter 17

He's running hands through his silver hair as the intensity of the pain was  
far to great. It makes him feel utterly pathetic. A gun shot. He could survive  
that. But forceps digging into his skin while he's awake with barely any drugs  
to numb the pain. He definitely does not want to go through this situation  
again. New rule, don't give Doctors loaded guns to defend for herself.

The guilt swallows him whole. A good chance, she will never be the same  
Rachel Scott that had boarded his ship over five months ago. That smile  
may NEVER reach her full cheeks ever again. The haunting of killing her  
first MAN ever. It would consume her. Her innocence taken from her. Tom  
didn't want that for her. He'll make sure she's somewhat remotely the same.

Hues are on the gold bullet. Lips pressed together, twitching into a smile.  
Course she would. Shaking his head, he looks at it on the towel. A souvenir.  
That _she_ placed there. A light chuckle leaves him, shaking his head at her  
playful teasing.

' **I don't** think I'll need it, the scar will be  
plenty of a souvenir.'

As if he needs a fancy scar, even. He'll remember the heated moments on the  
Vyerni.

' **How are** you holding up?'

XXXXX

She works diligently and carefully on his leg, paying extra mind and care.  
She is not a trauma surgeon, is not _any_ surgeon. She can **get through** these  
types of situations, but this is _**Tom.**_ She's not going to let him have an ugly  
scar on his long, muscular leg. She's going to do her best to make sure it's  
small and barely noticeable.

" _ **Scars.**_ "

She smirks at his choice of words. The scars will definitely be souvenirs  
enough. And so will the memories. She'd rather think about the moments  
BEFORE she killed the Russian. Those are the things she wants to  
remember, no matter how wrong it may have been.

She leans back when she finishes the few stitches, thinking it's her finest work.  
She's no _plastic surgeon_ either, but her sutures are tight and seamless.  
She finally takes a moment to look up at his pale face, to catch the eyes  
that stand out like _**ice**_ against snow.

His words make her think. Hard. About everything that has happened.  
She purses her lips, dropping her eyes to his lips, and then his chest.  
How is she holding up? Hell if she knows. She hasn't allowed herself  
to go there.

"You mean after **killing** a man?"

Her voice is quieter now, and she holds the dressing in her hands, playing  
with it thoughtfully. How does she answer him? Does she feign strength  
or break down? No. She can't let him see her weakness. What good would  
that do? Instead she swallows heavily.

"I'm… _hanging in there_."

And she is. She's **trying**.

XXXXX

There's blood all over his leg still, almost all dried up. He'll have to  
take a shower to get cleaned up, he will. At the right time. He's enjoying  
this environment. It wasn't hostile at **all.** And he loves every single second  
of it. No sense of hiding anything at all in HIS quarters. They weren't on  
the other ship. They weren't paranoid in what _if's._ No, this was all on their  
terms. Granted, he never wanted to be shot in the leg. Who knows when  
he'll be cleared to go on a mission.

He'll clear himself when he thinks he's ready. Captain, after all.

' **Something** funny, Doctor?'

Brows are raising against his forehead, finally feeling the blood FLOWING  
in his viens. Hues look at her work, impressed. It was _quick._ Not that he  
has to worry about a mess of stitches. He could careless. As long as he  
was breathing, and he could move his leg, he was GOLDEN.

It flips, that playful teasing to _serious._ It's needed. Unless she wants another  
accident to happen, she'll need to talk about it. Nodding slowly, arms folding  
against his chest as it raises and falls, watching her face. Trying to catch the  
emotions her voice wasn't clearly showing. Hanging in? Wrong answer. He  
licks his lips, sitting up slowly.

' **You** killed a man, Rachel. You  
can't _possibly_ be hanging in there.  
You're a ticking bomb, until you let  
it out. It – It doesn't have to be now.  
Or tomorrow. But _soon._ I know what  
it's like. Almost this entire CREW  
knows what it's like.'

His hand automatically reaches for her wrist, tenderly, carefully, gracefully,  
being cautious.

' **I didn't** want you to go through  
that, but we can't go back. You're  
gonna have to phase it. I'll be there.  
We all will be.'

XXXXX

He unnerves her. Rachel doesn't know how to react sometimes in his  
presence. His eyes are so touching, so leading and she can't stop  
looking at them. She truly **believes** his words, and knows _he knows_  
how she feels. She's not even sure how she feels; such a mix of  
emotions are running through her and she's taking a **deep breath**.  
She listens to him, really listens, and _overwhelmed tears_ fill up in  
her brown orbs. She didn't want to do this, didn't want to cry in front  
of him. But then _he's touching her wrist_ and her resolve breaks.

She's not sure she can answer his questions, can respond the way she  
wants to, yet. She will, she knows. If she's going to confide in anyone  
at any point **it'll be him**. No one else. She takes a chance, sitting down  
on the bed next to him, her bag moved and dropped to the floor with  
her free hand. _Please don't let go_ , she subconsciously begs him. The  
physical touch is almost as needed as the mental he's giving her with  
his words. She pulls a leg up in front of her, laying bent, flat on the  
bed, her dirty, jeaned thigh touching his bare one just slightly. She  
lifts her head and a sniffle escapes.

"I don't know what I feel."

Her words are honest. She can't be anything but with this man,  
not anymore, not after everything they've been through. _**Everything**_.

She wants to change the subject, wants to talk about something else,  
something that doesn't involve death. For her. She suspects he may  
feel differently about that subject.

Instead she stares at his blues steadily, begging the tears not to fall.

"I don't know if I can talk about it yet. I just…I **killed** someone.  
 _What if_ he had a family? I did it out of fear. I'm _almost sorry_."

The words tumble out and she hopes he **understands**.

XXXXX

The pain on his leg doesn't let up, but he doesn't let himself think about  
it much. He was shot not less then three hours ago. With all kinds of shit  
happening in between. Right now? The only thing that mattered to him  
was making sure she wasn't going to bottle it all in, well aware that is what  
HE had done when he took his first kill. He was twenty. A mission gone so  
VERY wrong. It took him WEEKS to get back to himself.

In **this** kind of world? HER world? In SAVING it? She couldn't go through  
what he did. Tom will not. He owes her that much. After what she had gone  
through to **save** him. TWICE.

His grasp on her wrist never moves, only his thumb, brushing against the  
top of her soft olive skin. He stays silent, as she gets comfortable. ( on his  
bed. ) He doesn't know how it got to this. To them. _Together._ He has a wife.  
He has a wife. He has a wife. This? There wasn't– he can't even try to put  
a label on it. It was to _complicated._ So many layers. So many wants. Needs.  
Desires. So many deep levels. And it all started on this ship.

Home.

 _I don't know what to feel._

He didn't either, then.

' **Then** we don't have to talk about it.  
When you're ready. You know where  
to find me. How do you feel? Nothing  
broken? I– I didn't even ask in the cell.  
I just assumed you were fine. You aren't  
me.'

XXXXX

His hand on her wrist, thumb against her skin feels so comfortable and  
she's not sure how they turned into this. How this became so easy for them.  
Oh, maybe it was that moment on the Vyerni. Her skin grows hot at the  
thought and despite his wound she can't not think about it. It's so freaking  
complicated and she's feeling so confused and unsure and…yet _**at ease**_. **  
With him**. Despite all that's happened, she's okay _here_. Everything is okay.  
It'll all be fine. She stares at his thumb as it brushes over her  
skin and she wishes it wouldn't stop. Wishes it was brushing somewhere else.  
Because if it was, she wouldn't have to think. It's the thinking that's hurting.

She's thankful he's asking about her injuries instead of her feelings now.  
She can answer that question. Despite her outward appearance, she's not  
 **broken**. Nothing is broken. Just _battered_ , bruised. She's **thankful**.

She gives him a small smile, _it comes easy_.

"No, nothing broken. A little sore. I haven't even looked at the  
damage underneath my clothes yet."

Her words are rueful, and she glances down at the dirty sweater.  
Heat rises in her cheeks. It's very dirty and blood-stained.

"I probably should have changed. This **can'** t be very attractive."

She's choosing the playful tone again, and she's thinking about the sweater  
under their heads on the floor of the cell. This sweater will always remind  
her of that. Her eyes scan to his arm, where she'd bit him. Did she leave a  
mark? More pink is in her cheeks now, and she ducks her head. It seems  
like a millennium ago, and yet really it was just hours. She's perplexed,  
doesn't know how she feels about anything. Only knows she _**doesn't want to go**_.


	18. Chapter 18

There's a part of him that wants to just simply embrace her. To take her  
into his strong arms and never let her have a single worry about the  
man she had to kill, in order to stay alive. Then again, they all had more  
worry now days then normal. Tom sighs, running his free hand through  
his short hair, that had been growing. He wants to take away all of her  
pain.

He's very relieved when she tells him that she doesn't have anything broken.  
Good. Better that way, he doesn't know if Dr. Rios could even deal with  
a broken bone. Hell, it was a miracle that Rachel even got the BULLET out  
of his thigh.

Hard times these were.

Days were getting longer.

Months even worse.

' **You** had a decent amount of bruising on your  
arms. I don't know what happened in there.  
I don't know how bad you got it.'

& he wishes he could've changed that too. So very much. She's talking  
about how she didn't look attractive. And it was the complete opposite.  
She looked **badass.** His neck cranes to the left slowly, taking her all in.  
He can't help it, he's scanning her entire form. The need to actually see  
what's under those clothes. In all of her glory…. It was **to** much.

' **We'll** get your sweater cleaned up.  
Why don't you get undressed, I have  
a shirt you can borrow. If you don't mind.'

XXXXX

He mentions her arms and she wonders where else she has bruising.  
She didn't remove her clothing entirely so it's hard to say. She peers at  
her arms, covered by the sweater. How bad _she got it_? She'd rather not  
describe it.

"Let's just say, what you _did_  
outweighed anything he _tried_."

She's biting her lip, thinking about possible implications of her words. She  
feels his eyes on her, and she focuses on his hand. She's comforted here,  
doesn't have to think about the tragedies they've experienced. They had  
been through so much, together and separately.

He's offering her a shirt and the thought of being wrapped in something of his  
offers her another level of comfort…she's relying on him heavily right now,  
more than she thought she ever would. But she knows he gets it and she  
doesn't feel like she has to explain herself.

"Do you? I don't mind. I actually would really  
like to get out of these clothes. Would it be  
too much if I asked to shower?"

Her words are quiet, and though she didn't want to wash him from her,  
she wants to wash the trauma away.

"I'd be quick."

XXXXX

 _Great, just great._ He thinks to himself, as he bites the inside of his cheek.  
Kicking himself. Now he can't help himself now, picturing her naked. With  
bruises scattered all across. Bruises that were _**not**_ from him. That _could_  
change. It could. Eyes snap towards her, chest weighing a million pounds.  
He blinks, swallowing hard, fingers releasing on his sheets, thumb still  
grazing at her delicate soft skin.

' **That** was my goal.'

Honest. The complete and utter truth. In the moment, he wanted to ease  
her pain. Wanted to mask the horrors that she had to face all by herself  
with no one to help her with. No hope to hold onto. She probably had thought  
 _this was it._ Just like he had when he was in the ocean, told his team to sail  
into the horizon.

She's asking to take a shower. His shower. Baby blue hues look at his leg.  
His bloody fucking leg. He was a mess too. Gritting his jaw tightly, ears  
turning a shade of RED. _Don't go there._

' **Go** ahead. Everything's in there.'

XXXXX

Her cheeks turn a shade of red at his words. His /goal/? That's kind of him,  
she thinks. But she wants to wonder if there's /more/ to it than that. He  
couldn't have been only trying to erase what Ruskov did, right? No. She  
tells herself that wasn't his ONLY goal.

She watches him look at his leg. It doesn't look good–covered in dried blood.  
He could use a shower too, she realizes.

"I'll be quick, and then you  
can take one too. Wash it all off."

Is she referring to the blood or the abuse? Even she's not sure. His face is red in places,  
bruised and cut. She's reaching forward with her free hand before she can stop herself,  
running her fingers along his bruises.

"Do they hurt? The hot water will help."

She catches his cyan eyes. Her's are honest and open and she _doesn't_ want to be alone right now.

"Come with me? Let me wash the blood off?"

The questions are out before she can stop them, but she /means/ them. She wants to help  
him too. She's desperate for his company, doesn't want him to leave her. She stands,  
reaching her hand out.


	19. Chapter 19

Goals. Goals. It was indeed his main goal for the time being. Shameless to  
say, it ended up being so much MORE then that. It all boils down to that  
k i s s. That kiss that he can't stop thinking about. That it all lead down to  
all of these feelings that he shouldn't be having. It wasn't RIGHT. But it  
did feel so fucking right.

Wash it all off.

He gets it. Hell, he knows it. Gets it. That was her first step. Good.  
Lips press together in a small line, the feeling her warm gentle hand  
against his cheek soothes his racing heart, calms it— the pain no  
longer on his thigh. It's so small, gentle, kind, and it just – trances  
him. She's asking him to come with her. He doesn't entirely know how  
much help he'll be, but he's gingerly getting up making sure he doesn't  
put all of his weight on his left leg.

He was doing this. There wasn't going back, not again. The need was  
great. Tom's slow, so painfully slow, but he gets there. Leaning against  
the wall, fingers already prying her sweater off.

' _ **Let me**_ help you.'

XXXXX

They move slowly to to the small bathroom and she's grasping his hand  
tightly. Afraid he'll fall, afraid he'll let go, turn back. She's grateful he  
agreed. Soothing him will soothe her. They'll need to be quick, he can't  
be up for too long on that leg, but a shower would do him good.  
Do them both good. Wash it all away.

She only lets go of his hand to turn the water on. When she turns back,  
he's leaning against the wall and his hands are reaching for her sweater,  
and she's surprised by his words. She was supposed to be _helping him,_  
not the other way around. She lets him remove the garment, before  
reaching for his tee-shirt, pulling it over his head gently. She's glad  
they're taking a shower, he's swam in the ocean, laid on a dirty cell  
floor, been beaten by Russian sailors–he could use a good, hot shower.  
Her hands move to her tank top, pulling it over her head, discarding it to  
the floor before reaching for the button on her dirty jeans, sliding them  
off too, as the bathroom starts to steam up.

She takes a moment to scan herself. Bruises dapple across her torso,  
she can remember the hits she took, the way he grabbed at her, and  
she shakes her head of the thoughts. She can also remember Tom's  
soothing hands on her. That's what she _**wants to remember**_. She wonders  
if they hadn't happened in such a close proximity if maybe the damage  
would be worse. She looks up at Tom and wonders the same thing for  
him. Is he okay? Internally?

She catches those blue eyes she's becoming to rely on more every  
moment, gives the tiniest of smiles.

" _ **We'll help each other.**_ "

XXXXX

They're removing the countless amount of clothing that they still had  
on. When she's free of her clothes, bare before his eyes he can't even  
help his own eyes scan. He was a man after all, and Rachel was beautiful.  
The steam is fogging up the room, but he doesn't really seem to care. His  
eyes are all on her, and he doesn't even remotely feel bad.

The amount of bruises on her torso makes his bones angry to the core.  
Wishing he had KILLED Ruskov instead. For ever laying a single hand  
on this woman's body. How _dare_ he. The LUST of the CURE taking  
over his mind, in harming a WOMAN. Fingers reach out to brush along  
her bruises, being delicate as he possibly can.

' _ **We**_ will.'

From now, until – well, whenever. Until she gets sick of him. Until he  
dies. With his other hand, he's pushing himself off of the wall, shedding  
his boxers and stepping into the shower, bringing Rachel right along with  
him, letting her step into the hot spray.

XXXXX

She feels his eyes on her, feels warm under his gaze. She realizes that  
despite what they shared in the cell, he hadn't seen her entirely naked  
before now. And she hadn't seen him naked either. He's impressive,  
broad chest, strong shoulders; it was obvious he took good care of  
himself. She admired that, admired _**everything**_ about him.

The steam is making heat rise in her cheeks, though some of it is  
probably his eyes as well. She drops her panties, unclips her bra,  
and then she's completely exposed before him. And he's touching  
the marks left behind, so softly, and his hands send up and  
down her spine. His words give her reassurance, and she doesn't reply,  
only nods in acceptance. She needs him, now more than ever, and  
more than she ever thought she could, in so many ways.

He drops his boxers and she can't help but take all of him in. She's  
trying to be nonchalant, but her eyes are eating him up. He's bringing  
her into the shower and the hot water feels amazing against her tense  
shoulders. The shower is small, and he's not, so the space is limited.  
Their bodies _brush against_ one another in the tight space and she  
doesn't mind it one bit. She dips her head back, letting the hot water  
run down her long hair and her eyes fall shut. She feels **content**.

And it _surprises_ her.


	20. Chapter 20

He's usually not this pale. A little, yes. But these events had caused  
him to grow pale. Lack of blood flow, he hopes this shower and a  
little REST, he'll be good as new within a few hours. Granted, he  
is fully aware he won't be walking as he once did for quite some time  
now.

It'll be weeks before the bruises and swelling go down on her body,  
he hopes she'll take care of herself. He hadn't even got a good look  
at his face. Nor did he care. The only thing he had cared about was  
getting the bullet out of his thigh, with such success, he can finally  
calm down. Everything can go back to NORMAL. Their normal,  
anyways. Rachel is completely naked in front of him, her olive skin  
GLOWING in the shower. Watching as the water slid all down her  
body, the want already growing in his belly. Could he control it?

Probably not. She looks so relaxed, he's never seen such a face  
on her. It was comforting that he could do that to her. Reaching  
over for his shampoo, putting it in his hand and reaching for her  
dark long locks, lathering it in her hair and massaging it into her  
scalp– while he leans against the wall of the shower leg stilled.  
He's never done this before, taken a shower with a woman. Not  
even his wife. Yet, this seems so god damn natural to him. It  
doesn't settle well with his guilt, but he massages away anways.

XXXXX

Her eyes open momentarily as his large hands find her hair; she hadn't  
been anticipating his hands on her. She can't remember the last time  
someone else washed her hair, and she is definitely sure a man has  
never done it. Hairdressers don't have hands like his, fingers like his,  
massaging her scalp, lathering her hair with his shampoo, creating rich  
bubbles that slide down onto her shoulders. It smells musky and  
rich–masculine–and she's inhaling deeply, her eyes falling shut, her  
head rocking lightly with his hands.

A soft moan escapes her throat and she doesn't think in time to stop  
it. She feels so relaxed, so _human_. She's living in the moment, with  
him, thinking about nothing but second by second. The steam wraps  
around them like a blanket and then lighting is dim from one  
fluorescent light over his small sink. She's hoping her bruises are  
not prominent, and that the blood is washing off her face as the  
occasional flow of water glides over her face. She doesn't mind,  
eyes shut, it feels incredible. _Real_. **Normal.**

She can't stop the _heat_ that's swelling within her as she thinks  
about his hands, hisbody behind her. She didn't invite  
him into the shower for _that_. But now that he's in his glory  
behind her, she can't help the want that pools between her thighs.

She bites her lip, focusing again on his fingers, teetering on  
relaxed legs, her ass brushing against part of him as she catches  
herself before she falls into his chest. Her reverie is jumbled and she  
stills quickly, bringing her hands up in front of her, not wanting  
him to think she'd been trying something. Though maybe she  
subconsciously was? _She wasn't sure_.

She doesn't say a word because she's _not sure she's really sorry._

XXXX

Tom makes sure that his hands are gently, not pulling at her hair–  
afraid that he'd HURT her even more then what she had already  
been hurt. So, he's gentle. Big Captain Thomas Chandler gentle  
with washing a woman's hair. Everyone wouldn't believe him.  
He doesn't care. This was just for him. And Rachel. This wasn't  
for anyone else. She's going to smell like spices, vanilla, and  
wood. A small he quite enjoys himself. White suds are lavendering  
around her shoulders, his other hand pushing the suds away.

Rachel is moaning, and he swallows hard. He shifts slightly to just  
adjust himself. He needs to otherwise he was going to lose it. Completely.  
The water is spraying against his legs, barely, but just enough so his own  
blood was starting to wash away. It stung, but he can manage it. It  
was nothing compared to being shot.

Tom catches her little slip up, he doesn't mind it. He almost welcomes  
it. Almost. He doesn't know what to _do_ anymore. Everything, all of the  
emotions, they were all blurring together.

Pushing her lightly under the spray, his chest lightly to her back. It was  
a small shower after all. He watches the studs start to wash away, clean.  
Fingers running through her hair, making it all wash out as he lets his fingers  
wander along her back.

XXXXX

The feeling of his fingers on her back sends more shivers through her body,  
and ties her stomach in delicious knots. He's pushed her under the water,  
and she can feel him behind her, feel his chest against her back. Her eyes  
stayed closed and she continues to breath in the scent that is so him and  
now all over her. It's intoxicating.

She's afraid to turn, to wreck the moment but she does anyway, her breasts  
just barely brushing his chest, her nipples hard because she's so close to him.  
Her eyes are trained on his pecs at first, before working their way up to his  
eyes. She reaches behind him, grabs the bar of soap off the small shelf,  
lathers it in her hands, before pressing them into his chest gently.

"Your turn."

She grins lightly as she rubs along his muscles, cleansing his skin of the  
dried salt from his long swim. She glances down at his leg, notices that  
the dried blood is washing away and she's pleased by that. Wants him  
clean so he can rest properly. Her hands work their way up to his  
shoulders, spreading the soapy lather all around before moving lower  
to his abdomen.

This feels like a kind of therapy and she's losing herself in it–in HIM.  
Her hands are light but purposeful, and she's focused on her task,  
silently thanking him.

XXXXX

He slowly needs at the knots on her shoulders yet being so careful all  
at the same time. He spots a few bruises, making sure his strong hands  
are still very so gentle. Everyone that's around her tomorrow will know  
that she showered in his shower. There will be rumors, so be it. Everyone  
likes to stir up their own gossip. He can't care for it. Not now, not here.  
Not in their little bubble of their own.

Tom watches as she starts to move, her breasts probing him. The ache  
to run his fingers over her _already_ hardened nipples. It couldn't be from  
the cold. Only from **him.** A curl of his lips are forming on his cheeks as  
she reaches for his soap, telling him that it's his turn. That her hands  
would be all over him.

He enjoys every single moment of it. His thigh is burning from standing on it,  
he can wait a few more minutes until this was all over. Eyes close, memorizing  
the way her fingers felt against his skin. She was toxic. Complete and utter  
toxic. He could get lost in her, for hours, and never once take a single look  
back.

' _ **Feeling**_ better? I am.'

XXXXX

She's focused on her task at hand, at cleaning him, cleansing him off the last  
48 hours. She wants to clean all of him but hesitates below the belt. The feeling  
of his gentle hands on her shoulders still lingers, and she's missing his touch.  
She scorns herself for such thoughts, but they don't disappear. That's a tall order  
when the man in front of her is entirely naked and pliable under her palms.

Her hands run suds down the front of his thighs, bring careful of the bullet wound,  
but cleaning it gently to avoid infection. Eyes are trained on a part of him that she  
can vividly remember giving her awe-inspiring pleasure, though her hands don't  
touch him–would that be wrong, she wonders.

She suspects people will know she was here, but she honestly doesn't care. Taking  
comfort in his presence, enjoying his presence, is all she cares about in this moment.  
And taking care of him.

"I am. Much."

She affirms his question with a solid reaction. She is feeling better. She wants to  
embrace him, under the hot water. Instead she steps back, pulling him with her  
so he can rinse.


	21. Chapter 21

Exhaustion sweeps across him, and hits him like a bunch of bricks. He hasn't  
slept at all in the last 48 hours. It hadn't hit him until now. He supposes it  
made sense, he was completely relaxed. Every bone in his body was unnerved,  
besides his gun shot wound, yet that's an entire different topic. He wonders  
how many people know about it yet. Tom doesn't dwell on it to much.

The tight of Rachel could make any man _or_ woman right now, easily brought  
to their knees, at will. And right now, if she would just ask anything of him,  
he believes he would eagerly accept with no challenge. She was stunning.  
Completely so. She knew it, too. A smile is on his cheeks, she was feeling  
better. That's all he had wanted.

Tom steps into the water, all of the salt and blood washing away. He was  
a new man, now. The only thing that would remind him of these past hours  
would be the scar on his leg, and the sinful memories in the cell.

And no, he wasn't complaining. Nor would he ever begin. The shower is  
short, a time limit on the water supplies. Other people needed the water  
too. Stepping out, he grabs two towels being careful not to put much weight  
on his leg, while he wraps his lower half, handing the extra one out to Rachel.

XXXXX

He looks so calm and relaxed, his facial expressions so soft. He looks tired too,  
she realizes, and she can't blame him, she's exhausted too. As he's rinsing off,  
she's knows this is the end of their small shower, and she's wishing it could go  
on for hours, she feels so comfortable in this space, with him _. Wishful thinking._

The smile on his face makes her _heart shake_ and she's meeting it, returning it,  
because she can't not with that look. It's **contagious**. She is feeling better and  
it's **because of him**. If she wasn't here, with him, she wasn't sure where she'd be.  
He's keeping her grounded, sane, and she's so appreciative. She's not sure how  
to put it into words but she will thank him eventually.

He shuts the water off and steps out, grabbing towels. She reaches her hand out  
just in case he needs something to steady himself, while taking the towel he  
offers her with her other hand. She's wishing somewhere inside he didnt't have  
to cover himself, it's a _**shame**_ to hide a body like that under anything. She shuns  
herself at the thought, can feel the blush rising in her cheeks. She diverts her attention.

" _ **How**_ does your leg feel?'

XXXXX

Tom didn't want to get out of the shower, not at all. He could've stayed in the  
shower for hours. But he has other activities on his mind, such as sleep. And  
getting off of his leg, which he really needs to do. Yet, the thought of Rachel  
leaving him for good makes his heart ache. He knows now, he's in way to deep.  
Perhaps he could've passed the kids, and the events in the cell off as a moment  
of relapse, that he was trying to help a friend recover from a wound. He was, but  
it was simply more then that. It was more then he could ever imagine it. As he  
watches her hand offer help for him.

He feels a little useless, and needy. He could use a crutch, Rachel for now was his  
personal crutch. There was no way in hell she would follow him around for the next  
few days, even if it would make him happy. Entering his room, grabbing the extra  
pair of shirt over to the tanned woman, dropping the towel himself on the floor a  
sad attempt at putting his boxers on one slow leg at a time. He does it, successfully.  
Tom has so many God damn urges, to whip the towel off, to take her the way he  
wants too. Yet he can't.

'A bit sore, I'll be fine. How about you? Why don't you sleep here tonight. There's  
no sense in you being all by yourself.'

He's making an excuse, he's aware. Grabbing sweats from his cabinet, looking over  
at Rachel in his USS NJ shirt that almost touched her knees. Toms climbing into his  
bed, the second his back hits the comfortable mattress he's so thrilled. Hoping, she'll  
accept his offer.

XXXXX

She slips the too-big shirt on and _relishes_ the feel of the soft cotton  
tee shirt against her naked body. She has nothing else to wear, but  
she's okay with that. This tee shirt is **enough**. It smells like him, and  
it so soft from all the wear it has seen. She watches him in his  
nakedness, doesn't hide her admiration for his body, because  
why? She washed it all–well almost all–and at this point, she's  
feeling _very comfortable_ in his presence.

He offers for her to stay with him, and honestly, she can't think of saying  
no. She doesn't want to be alone, and she doesn't want to leave. She  
can't walk down the p-way in just a tee shirt, no underwear or pants to  
be had. Under any other circumstances she would feel unsure, but with  
him, after the last 24 hours, she wants nothing more than to climb into  
bed with him. And she wants to make sure he doesn't lapse into  
infection, or need assistance to getting to the bathroom in the middle  
of the night. _So she tells herself, anyway._

She makes her way to the edge of the bed, watches him get  
comfortable, can tell by his expression _he's so happy_ with laying  
down. Another small smile tugs at her lips as she pulls her wet  
hair over her shoulders, braiding the long tendrils.

" **I would** like that. **Thank you**."

Her voice is soft and she slides under the covers, unsure of what  
to do with herself. She's next to him, _but does she touch him_?  
Lean on him? She rolls onto her side, facing him, her hands  
tucked under the soft pillow, as she takes in how comfortable  
the captain's bed is.


	22. Chapter 22

When she's pulling the t-shirt over her head he can't HELP but look  
at her body, and marvel over it. She was absolutely stunning. Full of  
curves which he had enjoyed. She was slender, and strong in all the  
best ways possible. Rachel was a gem, and she had deserved to be  
treated so. He has _nothing_ to offer her. Nothing but this ship and a  
place to stay at. The thought alone doesn't settle well with him at all.

She has no underwear on. And she'll be slipping in his bed with him.  
This thought causes him to swallow hard, jaw gritted. He hadn't put  
a shirt on, there was no sense in it. Hell, he barely even wore pants  
to bed at all. Tom watches as she smiles, curious as to why but he  
won't ask it.

' _ **Good,**_ didn't want to fight with  
you. It's easier just to accept all  
my offers.'

It was true. Tom easily gets his way, OFTEN. And most of the time she  
would be the one person to disobey him. Shifting slightly, his arm tucked  
under his head by his pillow, cyan hues traveling along hers. She seemed  
conflicted, he knows why. They were in a sticky situation. _Unsure._ Wonders  
how long it will take for the pair to doze of into the night.

XXXXX

All his offers? She's wishing she had pants on. Panties. Anything to keep  
her at bay. She wants him, but she's struggling. She shot him, he has a  
bullet wound. But she knows _other parts of him_ are in fine working order.  
Just being _next to him_ works her into a **frenzy**.

" **Fight** with me, huh? I think I'd find that  
entertaining. And I'd probably **win**."

 _ **No**_ , she tells herself firmly, when she wants to reach for those parts. Let the  
man _sleep_. Let the wounded man get some rest. She doesn't want to, her  
insides tell her to reach for parts of him she saw in the shower. Instead she  
rests her hand on his bare chest, feeling his heart beat under her palm.  
It's relaxing, mesmerizing. She feels the hard muscles under her hand,  
rubs absentmindedly. How can she relax him, help him sleep? Whatever  
would help him sleep will help her sleep. Knowing he's comfortable will  
do wonders on her psyche.

"Thank you again. I am glad I don't have to  
spend tonight night alone. "

XXXXX

Tom reaches up at the wall, and flicks the lights off. It's dark in his room.  
A small circled window let the moon shine in, and a few of his screens from  
the monitors gave a small bit of light in, other then that– it's pretty much  
pitch black in his room. And he prefers it that way. Light hues look over  
at her, twitching lips curl into a grin. Of course she would.

' _ **You**_ do whatever you want.  
Whether I say no, you do it  
anyways.'

It was true. All of it. Which is WHY they're here now. In each other's company.  
A little to shaken up to sleep alone. Although he could, he just didn't want  
her to do it. Not after what she had to go through. When he feels her warm  
hand against his chest, he's a little caught off guard, stills– just for a split  
second, relaxing easily. Tom's slowly sinking deeper and deeper, the waves  
rocking him with a heater right next to him, he'll be out in seconds.

' _ **Figured**_ we could help each other  
out. Wouldn't want to get a fever  
from the exposed wound. Got a  
nice Doctor right next to me.'

It comes out muffled, half asleep _already._

 _XXXXX_

The darkness surrounds them and it's a little unsettling. She reminds  
herself she's fine, everything is okay because he's here and he won't let  
anything happen to her. She wonders if he needs her company like  
she needs his.

' _You do whatever you want'_ rings in her head still, and she's glad  
for the darkness to shield her red cheeks. The ocean is lulling them  
both to sleep and she's okay with it, welcoming it. The consistent  
beat of his heart under hand is also helping, and continuously  
reminds her she's not alone. It's _soothing._

When his words come out muffled, she smiles. His voice is deep,  
relaxed and the sound is sweet. She likes it–him in this vulnerable  
state. She chuckles a little at his words, calling her a nice doctor,  
but she doesn't say much in return because she knows he's ready  
for a deep sleep and so is she. Craves it, her eyelids feeling heavy.

" _ **Goodnight, Tom."**_

She whispers the words, closing her own eyes, welcoming any sleep  
that comes and hoping he's still there in the morning.


	23. Chapter 23

With a warm and gentle hand against his chest, right above his heart– it  
was terrifying easy to fall into a deep slumber. So easy, he wonders if he  
will ever be able to fall asleep so quickly without her again. Tom wasn't a  
good sleeper, a night owl & a morning riser. He'd run perfectly well on 4  
hours of sleep. It wasn't heathly, it wasn't good for a Captain of a Navy  
ship. He made do, though. He was damn good at it too. With Rachel  
beside him, he was out within seconds.

Tom dreams of Ruskov. He had his children, Ashley and Sam. Then there's  
Rachel. He wonders where the hell his wife is? Everything's in slow motion,  
a knife piercing through Rachel's stomach. There was so much blood. So  
much. He's standing over her, trying to stop the bleeding. It wouldn't stop.  
It would keep seeping out of her body, fingers trembling his children  
screaming in horror of what they just witnessed. He can't lose her!

Waking up in a jolt, sitting up quickly. Looking over at Rachel, sound asleep.  
His heart slows, and he takes a deep breath in and out as he lays back down,  
crystal cyan hues on hers as he falls back to sleep. The lingering feeling of  
her slipping right out of his fingertips.

XXXXX

 _She could feel his hands roughly on her breasts through  
the thick sweater, feel his breath on her face. Her eyes  
were closed, and she fought the urge to push him away.  
The last thing she wanted was another punch in the  
stomach. She could barely breathe as it was, between  
the pain and the smell of alcohol on the Russian  
captain's breath. It repulsed her._

 _She tried not to listen to the words coming out of his mouth,  
tried to block them from entering her mind, but it wasn't  
working. And every time she didn't respond, she was met  
with an aggressive hand, whether it be a grip on her side,  
a slap across the face, a punch to the ribs  
or his hand gripping the center of her jeans angrily. _  
_She tried so hard not to make a sound  
as he punished her. If a yelp escaped her, he seemed  
very pleased with himself. And every time she blatantly  
refused to say anything, telling him she wouldn't, he would  
grit his teeth and choose a different form of torture._

 _It went on for what felt like hours, and she wasn't even sure  
how long it really hand been. Short of raping her, he assaulted  
her physically, and mentally, calling her names, telling her how  
she failed, his hands roaming under her clothing. At one point  
he slapped her with the back of his hand, hard, leaving the  
bleeding cut on her forehead, a ring gashing her skin. The pain  
was unreal. She'd been through a lot in her life, but she couldn't say a  
physical attack was something she'd ever experienced. And  
every time he hit her, he would try to soothe it by groping her,  
telling her if she just __that he'd let her go. She knew  
it wasn't true. All she wanted was Tom's safety in all this._

Rachel shot up in the bed, sweat on her brow.  
She gripped the sheets, her heart racing a mile a minute. She  
blinked, trying to rid the memories from her mind, a sob escaping  
her lips. She could _**feel**_ his hands on her still, smell his cologne.  
Panic and anxiety coursed through her and she couldn't catch her  
breath. She'd never been so scared _in her life_ _._

XXXXX

Tom woke up with Rachel actually kicking him in the side, a low groan escaping his mouth.  
He didn't mind it, it just startled him. A gentle sigh escapes him as he's getting ready to  
roll back over to go to sleep when the woman beside him kicked him again. Eye brows  
pinched together, as he sits up slowly eyes adjusting into the darkness– watching her  
form. She must be having a bad dream, he wants to wake her up, wants to lay a gentle  
hand on her shoulder to ease her night terrors, but he knows it's not good. It's a golden  
rule on the ship. Don't wake a sleeping being up.

Gritting his jaw tightly, just watching. Mintues pass, and it's starting to kill him. Whimpers  
coming out of her mouth, running a quick hand across his sheepish face completely and  
utterly conflicted. It was driving him insane. Curious as to what they were about. He has  
a damn good guess. Tom watches as she wakes up breathless, in a cold sweat– fingers  
curling around his sheets. He waits until she gets common grounds before his own hands  
embrace her, his hand running up and down her spine slowly trying to comfort her down,  
to get her to relax. She was so damn tense. His hold was tight, realizing she's shaking.

'You're okay. You're fine. You're okay. I'm here.'

XXXX

Rachel jumps as he embraces her, **shudders** under his touch. She can  
feel her eyes wide with shock, and her stomach is in knots. She's not  
sure she's ever been this scared before in her life. It felt so _real_ , it was  
so **vivid** , like it was happening _all over again_. Another sob escapes  
her lips, tears streaming down her cheeks. God help her, it would  
never happen again.

It takes her a moment to come to terms with the fact that it's Tom that's  
embracing her, and she takes a wracking breath in, her body shaking  
violently. She can't seem to catch her breath, can't seem to wake up  
from the terror. Her heart feels like it'll pound out of her chest at any  
moment, and she suspects he can feel it through the thin material of  
his shirt.

She finds herself suddenly clinging to him, like her life depended on it,  
bringing her knees up, getting as close to him as possible. Her arms  
are wrapped around his back, under his arms, so tightly, burying her head  
in the crook between his neck and his shoulder, inhaling his calming scent. His skin  
is so warm, and she tries to take in all his heat, to stop the shaking. She  
hears his words and begins to realize she's okay, he's right, she's _ **fine**_.  
She doesn't speak, simply relies on him for comfort. She can't find the  
words right yet. She's still too unsettled.

XXXXX

The male has never experienced this in his LIFE. This was territory he's  
never crossed over, and he's a little… unsure of what exactly to do. He  
wasn't a man that really talked about how he _felt._ He'd make it known  
with actions versus words. He probably shouldn't have embraced her so  
fast, he had felt so terrible about keeping her in the nightmare she clearly  
was having. Swallowing hard, feeling how tense she's against him.

Tom breathes in, out, in out slowly, his chest meeting hers each time  
in hopes that she can feel it against hers. Fingers are gentle down her  
spine, his other hand in her hair pushing it towards her shoulder, mouth  
on her icy cold skin. There are words that should be shared, said, he's  
at loss. Terribly so.

Both of her arms are tight against him suspects she's holding onto him  
for dear life. And he can't help but wonder what the sick fuck did to her  
when he wasn't there. Tom's untangling his fingers out of her hair, reaching  
for cheek encouraging her to look at him through the dark, his hand nearly  
cupping the entire cheek and chin, trying to get her to meet his gaze to  
understand she's _fine._

' **Hey,** relax. Okay? Just– focus on your  
breathing can you do that?'

XXXXX

As he's leaning back from her, hand coming to her cheek, she's still wild eyed  
and teary. His eyes shine in the limited lights that glow around them, and she  
focuses on them, and does as she's told, focusing on her breathing. She feels  
numb from the panicky breathes, her fingers gripping at his back, silently  
begging him not to let her go. She's searching his blues, that look like the color  
deepest ocean in the darkness, but she sees the kindness, the concern there.  
It warms her a bit.

"I'm–I'm sorry,"

She stutters in shaky breathes, his hand on her cheek is bringing her back.  
She's not scared of him, he's NOTHING like Ruskov. He's the polar opposite  
in every way. She continues to lean into him, final tears slipping down her  
cheeks, her breathing beginning to even out.

She wants to say more but she's not sure where to begin, or even how. Instead  
she just relishes in his closeness and the fact that it was simply a nightmare, a  
reminder of something that wouldn't happen ever again. Though she couldn't  
fathom closing her eyes.


	24. Chapter 24

Tears are glossed in her dark hues and his heart is aching against his chest.  
A small ounce of fury and anger is slipping inside of him, unsure if he really  
wants to know what happened in there or not. Or if it was better off for him  
not to know. Rachel's in deep, she's somewhere else entirely in her mind.  
And he wants to change that. Tonight was supposed to be peace, and sleep.  
Much needed sleep. He's perfectly fine with the amount he had, but she  
needs _more._ She's actually apologizing? Why? Brows pinch together again,  
and he shakes his head slowly.

' **No** need to be sorry.'

Does he ask her about it? Does he try and use more comforting words?  
Did he even know anymore? Thumb brushes away the fallen tears, lips  
parting against his mouth, so fucking confused on what to do. He doesn't  
let her gaze wander elsewhere, afraid she'd slip again into the terror that  
awoke her. Tom reaches for one of her wrists behind his back, grabbing  
her hand and placing it above his heart, mirroring her previous actions.  
Hoping it would help.

' **Feel it?** Calming? _I'm_ sorry you  
had do go through that.'

He still doesn't know what, but he won't ask until she's ready.

XXXXX

His thumbs erasing her tears causes her to take another shuddering breath,  
still bringing her heart back from light-speed. And then he's placing her hand  
over his own heart and she feels the steady beat she'd fallen asleep to. It's  
strong and constant, very much like him. She doesn't move her eyes from his,  
as if his soul is what's bringing her back from the edge.

She nods, it IS calming. And then he's apologizing and another tear escapes  
because none of this is his fault. She shakes her head once, her long hair  
bouncing against her shoulders.

"It's not your fault. At all."

It's not. She's firm in that. The words are spoken so softly, and she's pressing  
her hand more into his chest, as if her palm can't get close enough to his warm  
skin, his heart.

She feels her breathing slow further and she takes a deep, cleansing breath.  
Her dark orbs never leave his.

"He's a terrible human being."

There's venom in her voice, and she feels for a moment like she might vomit,  
but she pushes the nausea away, focusing on the peace she finds in him. If this  
man is one thing, and he's many, he is steady. And she needs his steadiness  
right now. More than anything.

XXXXX

Tom knows very well it's not entirely his fault, no, but a good reason. He's  
the reason why she even got on the Vyerni in the first place. If Tom never  
had gotten captured, she wouldn't have been on the ship. In most ways  
he does wish he never had gotten captured, but then there's this sick part  
that enjoys it. He would've never had the opportunity for Rachel's lips to  
be on his own.

He's the terrible one.

Rachel's voice is a little different, bitter, anger, he gets it. Truly. His hand  
rubs up and down on her back, running small circles along her shoulders,  
making sure she knows he's there. He won't be going anywhere anytime  
soon. His other hand rests on her shoulder, lightly.

' **He** won't change. Hopefully he's  
a dead man. Got what he deserved.'

XXXXX

His hand running up and down her back is lulling her back to life, and the coldness  
in her skin is being replaced by a white heat that his hands are causing, a need to  
be closer to him.

She's hoping too that Ruskov got what he deserved, more than she can articulate  
in this moment. She's hypnotized by his blues, her hands coming up to cup his  
cheeks slowly. She feels as though she's not even thinking as she's doing this,  
she's looking between his eyes and his mouth, giving him a slight moment to  
grasp what she's about to do. Because she cannot be pushed away. Not now.  
Not by him. She hopes to God he doesn't push her away.

And then she's pressing her lips to his, foiling against him, her hands on his cheeks,  
thumbs rubbing his slightly stubbly skin. Her kiss is needy, but soft, caressing his lips,  
taking her time. She needs this, needs him, needs comfort. His warmth, strength, and  
the thought of what they did hours ago is spurring her on. Her kiss grows stronger as  
the body under his large tee shirt continues to heat up.

XXXXX

Tom blinks rapidly at her cool hands coming to place against his heated skin.  
It was lie ice and fire. The touch, _burns._ It's welcomed, it's **always** welcomed.  
She's so gentle and sincere, and _s l o w._ Afraid, even. That he would do  
something to stop her. To **harm** her. He'd never lay a single hand on her  
unless she welcomes it with an warm embrace. He wonders if he _should_  
pull away? Her judgement is clouded with fear and terror.

Yet, she has this look in her eyes. He knows the look. She had it in the cell.  
The NEED. When her lips land on his, the oxygen is getting sucked right  
out of him, heart absolutely thumping hard against his chest. Both of his  
hands drop, arm slipping around her lower waist against her back, pulling  
her closer, higher against his chest.

There it was again, the need.

He can't stop it now. To late for it. His hand hooks around her hip, his mouth  
anchoring into hers, not once coming up for air.

XXXXX

When he pulls her closer, she melts into him, like it's the only place she wants to be.  
It is. Here, in his bed, with him, is the only place. She feels so small in his embrace  
and she desires it, to feel overcome by HIM and only him. She braces herself against  
him easily, her head level with his now, her lips sliding against his. Her tongue flicks  
out to run across his bottom one, before sucking it into her own mouth just briefly.  
She lets out the tiniest of moans.

He's kissing her back and her mind flashes to the moment he had called himself rusty.  
He was anything but then, and is anything but rusty now. The man kisses like he  
commands, thorough and firm, but encouraging. She's eating it up, eating him up.  
This is what she needs!

Her thighs subconsciously rub together from where shes twisted toward him, his  
grip on her hip making her so weak and wanting. She's so pleased he's not pulling  
away, doing the opposite really, pulling her closer, urging her on. Her hands drop  
from his cheeks, one snaking around his neck, fingers running through his soft  
silver hair, the other gripping his chest again, feeling the change in his heart rate.  
She wonders if he can feel hers too…


	25. Chapter 25

It's her kisses that he wants branded on him, in all the truth. He craves it when  
they leave him. Craves her, and he feels like the worlds terrible man, yet it's  
FAR from it. Rachel consumes him whole. He doesn't ever think when they're  
doing this. Doesn't think about the consequence. Doesn't think about who it  
will be hurting. He only _knows_ how good it feels. As if it's the most natural  
thing to be doing right now. And it was. Her tongue's against his, his grip  
on her hip tightens a little bit.

Tom's got a good grip on her, pulling her closer, and closer until there's  
no room to get a piece of paper between them. His other hand snags it's  
way towards her knee, encouraging her to straddle him. He needs it. He  
so fucking needs it.

He wants her on her back, if that. But his leg threatens him, he'll settle for  
right now. He can feel how hard her hearts thudding against his own chest,  
a smile crossing his cheeks at that, mouth still hungry on hers.

XXXXX

Rachel has given up thinking. She's only feeling at this point. His  
grip on her hip has her feeling all kinds of things, stirring up the  
heat between her legs. And she feels his hand on her knee and  
she knows what he wants. She slides onto him easily, yet  
conscious of his wound. If she does all the work, there shouldn't  
be any problem with the sutures. She doesn't mind doing the  
work, would do anything he asked to be this close to him.

Her hands fall to his chest, and she can feel his sweatpants against  
get center between her legs. She's sure she's leaving behind a wet  
spot where she's sitting, because god she wants him. She grinds her  
hips into his once, purposefully. Wants him to know just what she's  
thinking. She allows a gasp to land on his mouth at the friction  
between her naked heat and him.

Her mouth doesn't separate from his just yet, she's too caught up  
in the feel of his mouth against hers. It's as if he's reading her  
mind, and she doesn't mind, welcomes it. She slides her hips  
forward again, wondering how long she can keep his pants on.

"Tom….I want you"

The words are whispery against his mouth.

XXXXX

His entire body is up in flames with each touch, each kiss, each moan. It's  
got him in complete flames. Her leg is easily hooking around his other side,  
and his hands let go of each grip he's got on her, questioning what he wants  
to touch first. Nearly forgetting she was **naked** under that shirt of his. No  
underwear, no bra. Completely bare. The mere thought alone has his cock  
already aching under her.

Tongue runs along her lower lip, tasting her, slipping into her mouth a groan  
escaping his mouth at the roll of her hips against him, oxygen leaving his  
nose hard. Jesus christ, was she trying to kill him? He soaks in her words,  
like a sweet lullaby. Music to his ears. He wants her too, so fucking much.  
He pry's his lips off of her, teeth coming up to her neck and nipping at the  
skin, mouth pressing kisses to her skin.

' **You're** gonna have to wait.'

It comes out hard, his hand coming up to her thigh, pinching at her skin  
before he finds what he wants. Two fingers slipping right into her, easily.  
Wanting her to crumble before he takes her the way he **wants** to.

XXXXX

His groan makes Rachel want to groan herself, the sound so masculine, so deep.  
She rubs her hands roughly against his chest, kneading the muscles she finds there.  
His tongue against her lip is a feeling she won't soon forget–the man is damn  
talented with that mouth of his. He's got her insides all upside down and inside  
out and she doesn't mind one damn bit.

When he releases her lips only to latch onto her neck, she doesn't bother keeping  
quiet. An audible sigh fills the air, and it's one of pure enjoyment. She tilts her  
head, giving him all the room in the world to do what he will. When he tells her  
she'll need to wait, she's about to protest because she needs him like she needs water.

Before she can, she feels his hand pinching at the skin of her thigh and she sucks in  
a breath as he gets closer to where she wants that hand. She shakes against him in  
anticipation, not entirely prepared for the delicious intrusion of his thick fingers into  
her. Her head falls back and a gasp mixed with a moan fill the room. She's not sure  
how paper-thin these walls are, but she doesn't honestly care as his fingers fill her  
channel, and her hips immediately thrust forward, taking them as deep as she can.

She's filled with memories of their last time together, this is similar, but she is already  
liking this time better; the bed, his scent, and the privacy of the room one-uping their  
first time. And there's no need to rush. She can ENJOY him like she has been wanting  
too long before today.

XXXXX

This? This is exactly what he had wanted this to be like. Open, free, allowed to be loud.  
Unlike their time in the cell, time consumed, quiet, barely enough room to do ANYTHING.  
Now? Oh, now, he could do anything he wants. She's letting out a sigh, a grin against his  
cheeks as his mouth still attacks her neck. His teeth pulling at her skin, making marks on  
it, knowing it would hurt. As his tongue soothes the same exact spot, mouth latching onto  
the skin and sucking. Her fingers are on his chest, and it almost makes it difficult for him  
to breath. Perhaps it was the lack of air. He doesn't care though. He can't.

When her hips dip low, his fingers all the way in, he enjoys the lack of jeans and underwear,  
free for his hand to extract his fingers ever so slowly, and plunge them right back into her  
deeply, and hard. Repeat. His lower waist shifts slightly against her ass, needing some  
friction against his throbbing cock. Tom isn't sure if he can keep his sweats on anymore  
with her straddling his hips like she is. It was almost torture.

With his other hand he's snagging it up her sides, fingers gliding along her ribs teasing her skin  
as his fingers brush against her breasts, barely giving her nipples any attention, while his other  
hand is working her over. Her breathing coming up short, mouth pulling away from her neck to  
take a proper look at her face. She was a vision, truly. Hips move up again, and again, thumb  
grazing against her nipple, fingers pushing in and out quicker this time.

XXXXX

Tom's teeth pulling at her skin, mixed with the hard thrusts of his fingers is  
blurring that line of _**pleasure and pain**_ and she _likes_ it. Loves it.  
 **Wants** more. She trusts him, and that changes everything. He  
can do _whatever he wants_ to her and she'll take it all. As long as he  
keeps it up, _**he can have her any way he likes**_.

When he shifts under her, against her ass, she changes the angle of  
her hips so she rubs across his hard cock too, giving it attention with  
her bare ass. In turn it allows her to meet his fingers, encouraging  
them as deep as they'll go. It makes her **shiver** in delight. As he  
pulls them out slowly, dragging them along her walls, she wants to  
whimper every time, before her breath hitches when he pushes them  
hard back in. She lets go of his chest, one hand simply supporting  
herself on his good leg so she can lean back, giving him all the  
access he needs to her.

The hand that's moving up her sides, brushing across her breasts  
makes her lean forward again, she wants his hand on her full breasts, _  
wants him_ to pinch and play with them. She bites down her lower lip,  
a moan of want finding its way out regardless. Her eyes closed, she's  
lost in everything she's _feeling_ , and the quicker he moves his fingers,  
the quicker she's moving toward the edge. She dips her ass low,  
rubbing it hard over his cock, providing him some friction she's sure  
he wants, that they _ **both**_ want.

" _ **Fuck, Tom…"**_


	26. Chapter 26

Tom knows she's close, hell he HOPES she is. He needs more himself, and yeah,  
he's being a little needy. But the build up from the shower was starting to bleed  
through his veins, starting to get mixed in with what he wants and what he thinks  
she deserves. All of this, and much more. So more. And he's starting to question  
his ability on how long his stamina on his leg would last if he would put pressure  
on it. Considering it. If anything, it gives him another excuse to have her around more.

His hand comes up to the hem of the shirt she was wearing, and pulling it up her  
torso and it resting right above her breasts, his hand pinching at one of her nipples,  
leaning forward to _finally_ take the other into his mouth, tongue twirling around her  
pink bud, too and bottom teeth biting lightly, while his fingers pulled at her other  
nipple hard.

A deep moan escapes out of his mouth at the shake of her ass against his lard length,  
eyes threatening to close– he won't let them. He's content on just simply watch her  
wither against him, wanting to watch her come undone. Fingers rock back and fourth,  
curling around her deep walls, changing his rhythm for a few thrusts, body completely  
on FIRE. Tom has his hand deep, adding a third finger his fingers working her over the  
edge, cheeks curling into a sly grin against her breast, tongue rolling on her opposite  
nipple giving it the attention it needs.

'Come for me, Rachel.'

XXXXX

He finally touches her breast, just how she hoped he would, and she  
lets out a cry of pleasure. God, she's so close now, and this…she  
leans into his mouth and hand, arching her back. The nipple in his  
mouth feels like it's on fire and she _can't get enough_. And he's pinching  
and pulling the other one just right and she's moaning his name,  
telling him so, telling him all things she wished she could have before.

"Tom..feels incredible.. _ **don't stop**_..."

Every nerve ending her body is on point, is firing at lightning speed,  
and she's feeling light-headed because he's making her feel _so  
many _sensations. She's an over-thinker and analyzer by nature  
and by heart–she's a scientist, it's her job. In this moment though,  
the last thing she's doing is analyzing; she's simply  
feeling, in his fingers fucking her,  
his mouth and teeth on her sensitive nipples, the  
way it feels just to be _**with him**_. She's feels all feminine,  
she feels beautiful, she feels _ **alive.**_

As soon as he pushes in the third finger, she's feeling wonderfully  
stretched and writhes above him, riding his hand now, head falling  
back. He's pumping them in and out of her hard, and she can feel  
that bubble, that build just before the cave in. He's giving her other  
breast attention with his tongue, and she's all whimpers and moans,  
and " _pleases"_ , until he _**tells her**_ to come for him. Her eyes open for  
a brief second at his words before she snaps and falls, her walls  
quivering and quaking around his fingers, his name on her lips in a  
quiet stream amidst moans. Her ass drives hard into his cock one  
last time as she comes hard **for h i m** , her legs shaking, her fingers  
gripping his shoulder so hard she's wondering if she drew blood.

She's panting, her face flushed as she rides out her orgasm, wishing  
the waves of pleasure wouldn't stop because he's made her feel so  
magnificent she can hardly remember her name. All she can see is  
him; she's hyper-focused on all that is Tom Chandler.

XXXXX

Tom likes to think that he's very skillful in bed, he always likes to have everything moving.  
Whether it's his hands, his mouth or his cock, he fulfilled most of this already and he feels  
like it had JUST begun. He's thinking about how this all started, in a cell. Out of comfort.  
This? It started out in fear, with her lips on his. And who was he to deny her? To turn her  
away in need? He will do almost anything possible to make her feel as if she could conquer  
the world with just the high alone. So far, he thinks he's doing a damn well good job.

His mouth and hand is keeping themselves busy against her beautiful breasts, surely content  
of lathering her with the pleasure alone. He didn't even need to get off, he could with the pure  
sounds that were coming out her mouth. Desperate, short, begging for him not to stop. He'd  
never dare.

The moment his third finger is slipping easily right into her, Tom can feel her walls start to cave  
in against him, it's driving him fuckin d. So wild, that his hips buck up into her, careless with his  
leg. He honestly could care less. His hand is pumping faster and faster, each push and pull is  
deep and hard watching as she's climbing over the edge of her orgasm, eyes finally opening  
and he's meeting her gaze, tongue against her hardened pink bud. And fucking Christ, he's  
going to lose it himself. He won't. Won't allow it. This was all for HER. No one else. He wants  
her to feel completely LOST in the pleasure that she couldn't remember what Ruskov ever did to her.

The hand that's against her breast wraps along her ribs, flat against her skin mouth moving  
away from her chest, eyes focused right on hers, as he holds her for dear life as the wave  
crashes right into her, arm moving as fast as he possibly can, watching her face twist in the  
pleasure. His own heart is hammering against his chest in total awe of it all. And he wants  
more. He will always WANT more. Fingers are slowing, terribly slow, he can feel her pulsing  
against his fingers, breathless. Once her legs tremble once, twice, three times he's freeing  
his fingers from her heat and grabbing each hem of his shirt and pulling it off her, discarding  
it to the floor. Eyes taking her all in.

'You are trouble.'

XXXXX

She's pulsating around his barely moving fingers and the next thing she knows he's pulling them  
out and reaching for her shirt. She's too breathless to cry out at the loss, and soon the shirt is  
discarded and she's panting, her round breasts heaving as she tries to catch her breath. Her  
hands settle on her thighs for a short moment as she attempts to catch her breath.

" _ **I'm trouble**_? Are you aware of what _you_ just did to _me_?"

She pushes him back fully into the pillows, leaning forward to swipe her tongue over his lips,  
sucking him into a **hot, wet kiss**. Her hands are on his wrists and she moves her bare, wet  
center over his hardness, still sheathed by the sweats, and pants at the friction. When she  
pulls back from the kiss, she purposefully has a mischievous smile on her face and it's her  
turn to play with him. She latches her mouth onto his neck, sliding one hand down, between  
her legs, lifting her hips so she can slide her hand into his waist band. She wraps her slender  
fingers around his hard cock, _**squeezing**_ his thick member almost painfully tight. Her eyes  
tilt up, watching his face, her hand pumping him a few times. She wants him to feel **as good**  
as she just did, wants to play with him and take her time. She licks her lips in anticipation  
of _what she's about to do to him_.

She nips and sucks her way down his chest, dragging her nails as she goes, slowing to swirl a  
tongue around his own nipple, before she's seated between his legs, pulling his hard cock out  
of the sweat pants. She moans in appreciation, getting a full look for the first time. She locks  
her eyes with his stormy blues, simply licking over the the tip with her tongue, her hand holding  
him upright at the base, her other hand grazing over his balls.

" _ **Let's see how much trouble I can be."**_

XXXXX

Both of his hands are rounding her bare handful breasts, and he's so fucking  
pleased. So utterly pleased. Tom could stare at her naked form for hours and  
hours and be nothing but blissfully content in the world. And the thought  
alone causes flips in his stomach both bittersweet and guilt, he won't think of  
it yet. Won't cross that ship just yet. He's to preoccupied with what's going  
on in their little bubble of the world.

A laugh escapes him, fully aware. Yes, he does. She's all sorts of trouble.  
He's known it the second he landed eyes in her dark hazel hues, with the  
way she BANTERS with him. Isn't **afraid** of what he could DO to her. Her  
mouth is on his, the kiss nearly will make his lips swollen at how hard her  
lips met with his. He's taken by surprise with her hand wrapping fully around  
his hard member and giving it a fucking squeeze. ' _Jesus.'_ It comes out of  
his mouth, hips reacting into her hand. His chest rises, and falls, watching  
her slide her way down him.

Tongue drags along his own lower lip, shaking his head at her, eyes locked  
on her own looking utterly _mischievous_ look in her gaze. A groan escapes  
him when her tongue barely meets the tip, swallowing hard. He knows he's  
doomed as _hell._ He's utterly aching, he knows he won't last long at all. And  
she'll be painfully slow. He can promise it.

' **Rachel,'**

 **XXXXX**

Her name on his lips rouses a smile and she keeps it on her lips as she takes  
the tip in her mouth, sucking. Eyes still locked on his. She wants to see his  
reaction, and so far she's been very pleased. She watches his chest rise and  
fall, as she takes him deeper in her mouth, before dragging her lips slowly  
up his length. It's a leisurely pace, her hands massaging his pair just as slow.  
She wants to drive him mad until he can't take it anymore and has to have her.

There's something about having this man at her will, being able to make the  
Captain say HER name that turns her on, fueling her wet, hot fire. Having her  
mouth on him is exciting, enticing, and intoxicating, and she wants him to  
enjoy this just as much as she enjoyed his fingers in her depths. She drops  
her head, taking him as deep into her throat as she can, moaning, hoping  
the vibration pleases him.

As much as she wants to push him to his own climax this way, she has no  
intention of allowing it to get that far. She wants him inside her too, wants  
so much more of him. She's conscious of his thigh and his wound as she  
sucks him, fondling his boys a little rougher now, toying with him body as  
he did hers. TWO can play this game, she thinks, looking up again to see  
what she's doing to him.


	27. Chapter 27

Fingers are running through his short hair, across his face as he takes  
all of this in. All of her in. Her mouth is wrapped around his hard length,  
and he's memorized by her, captured in her spell. Eyes roll when she  
takes him in deeper, curious to know how much _can_ she take? His  
breath hitches against his throat, tongue rolling across his lower lip,  
deep breathes leaving his nose.

 _Fuck._ He can't remember the last time he's ever had a mouth around his  
cock– he's getting so fucking lost in it, his hips cautiously move forward  
watching as she takes him inch by inch, he was going to fuckin lose it.  
 _Soon._ To soon. He moans, eyes fluttering close for a moment as he feels  
her own moan against him, and god damn. This _woman._

He's sitting up slowly, eyes opening slowly to lock onto her gaze fingers  
threading into her dark locks, encouraging a little bit _more._ His hips rolling,  
just lightly meeting her bobs against him, knowing he wasn't going to last  
any longer. He didn't want to come, not yet. Not yet. Jaw's gritting, and  
he feels his chest burst in flames as his breathing is growing quicker, another  
groan leaving him.

' **Jesus, Rachel.** I can't–'

XXXXX

Just watching his reactions is thrilling, loving knowing that she's the one giving him  
this pleasure. The way his breathing increases, the sound of his moans, she's growing  
wetter by the second, if that's even possible. She meets his thrusts with get lips,  
taking him all the way to the back of her throat a few times.

His fingers in her hair spur her on, and she moves a bit faster on him, closing her eyes  
and enjoying it for herself. He's so hard between her lips and she's imagining his hard  
cock somewhere else, where she desperately needs him. She wants to feel him inside  
her without the worry of getting caught. There's a tinge of guilt suddenly as she thinks  
about being caught in this position with him–he has a WIFE–but she swallows, pushing  
the thoughts away.

Then she hears him, verifying to her that he's close. She releases his cock from her mouth,  
back in the moment, and she crawls toward him, stopping an inch from his lips. She's  
hoping the moment of reprieve will slow down his need to come because she's nowhere  
near done with him.

"What do you want?"

Her tone is whispery with need, and she's searching his eyes, biting her lip.

XXXXX

It's going to take him a lifetime to recover from theses events. His poor  
fucking cock isn't used to this much ATTENTION. It's been a long, long  
few months and _clearly,_ he's putting good use to it. His own wife didn't  
wrap her mouth around his length the way Rachel just did. It slips, the  
guilt, but passes fairly quickly. And he can't help but wonder WHY.  
She's releasing his length, and his head tilts back as he lets out a hiss.  
There was no way in hell he had wanted to come, but fuck. The loss was  
real.

She's asking him what he wants, wasn't it obvious? It was so painfully  
obvious for him. His hand reaches forward, pulling her into a deep kiss,  
mouth titled slightly, while his other hand is hooking around her waist  
pulling her flush against him, as he uses his good leg to lift the pair up,  
and Rachel on her back, in one swift move _careful_ not to put to much  
weight on his other leg.

His hand is dragging down her torso, bending her leg up towards her  
stomach, aligning his cock right into her center, and slipping RIGHT  
in without any warning. It's fucking sinful, his mouth almost slacking  
against her own. Pulling away from her hips, and slipping right back  
in, his hand on the back of her thigh, hues locking onto hers.

' _ **You.**_ I want you.'

XXXXX

She has to admit, she's shocked when he flips them and she lands on her back,  
a surprised squeak leaving her mouth as his lips are still on hers. His strength  
despite a bullet wound is fucking hot and she's so ready for him to fuck her.  
She kisses him hard, teeth biting his bottom lip, pulling it gently before her  
mouth latches back onto his. She silently tells him to be careful of his leg,  
but wants this so much she doesn't actually say a word. She'll check the  
sutures later. Right now she just wants him inside her, desperately.

He pushes in without warning, and she cries out against his mouth, stretched  
and full and god she could come right then. She's arching her back, her head  
falling back into the pillows. She grips his sides, feels his hand on her thigh,  
pulling her legs up higher, encouraging him deeper. She doesn't keep her voice  
down, doesn't want to. If he wants her quiet, he'll need to make her quiet.  
She likes the rough handling, almost wants to dare him to try.

He slides out and back in easily, she's so wet, but it's still a nice tight fit;  
he's not small and she's still tight from the lack of action. Sure they did this  
earlier, but this is different, how she wanted him. His cock is driving deep,  
and he's saying he wants her, and she's pushing her hips up at him, capturing  
his lips hard, her tongue dueling with his.

"Take me, Tom. Fuck me like you mean it."

Her words are naughty, but she can't help it. She doesn't want it slow and tender  
right now, she wants it deep, hard, and dirty. She bucks her hips up as  
encouragement, biting his shoulder.

XXXXX


	28. Chapter 28

When her mouth is against his, taking his lower lip into her mouth and he  
nearly moans at that. She's being so _aggressive._ And it's turning him more  
on then he had thought possible. Tom know's he's going to have to be  
careful for his leg, he'll use it– but won't but all of his weight against it.  
Luckily, he has a doctor. This was so much more different then their first  
go at it. So much _better._ And he hadn't been expecting this to turn out  
as it has. He will take it, with no question.

Fingers grip at the back of her thigh, fingers digging into her skin as he  
adjusts himself inside of her, so fucking tight and he welcomes it, feeling  
absolutely incredible. She felt so GOOD around him, and he could do this  
for hours and hours. He's good to go– and he looks down at her, listening  
to her words coming out of her sweet mouth, nothing but dirty language.

' **Oh,** I'll fuck you like I mean it.'

He hadn't want to hurt her– that wasn't what he wanted. But she's  
encouraging it. His arm is extending on the mattress, sinking deeper and  
deeper, pulling right out, and filling right back in. His hips rock, rolling them  
back and fourth his chest growing tight, as a moan escapes him each time  
he hits _home,_ hues not _once_ fluttering close, locking onto hers. There's  
nothing but LUST in his eyes, hand slipping from her thigh, dipping towards  
her waist pulling her waist closer, needing to go deeper— he doesn't stop.  
The pain doesn't even hit him, it can't phase him from what he's feeling  
right now.

XXXXX

She sucks in a **delighted** breath at his response to her  
challenge, and _she's so ready_ for what he might do. A _**smile**_ actually  
spreads across her face for a split second before it's replaced with  
a silent O shape of her lips as he pushes farther into her, so deep  
it takes her breath away. He's hitting all the right spots and she  
can't control the squeal of pleasure pouring of her, his name  
mixed somewhere in there.

She grasps at his back with one hand, her other gripping his ass,  
spurring him on. Her knees are high around him, but she doesn't  
wrap them around his waist, wants him to be able to move freely,  
 _as he pleases_. The hand on her thigh moves to her waist and he's  
holding her so closely against him that she can barely decipher when  
she ends and he begins and she's enthralled, entranced. Everything  
around them is white noise, she's solely focused on how **damn good**  
this feels.

She forces her eyes to stay open, to link with his blues, she wants to  
see this in his eyes. The lust she finds there turns her heart into flames,  
and she feels herself grow slicker around him. The friction of their bodies  
against one another is seriously drowning her, and she drops his gaze for a  
moment, biting and licking his massive shoulder, before letting out another  
loud moan, her head falling back against the pillows. She feels so small  
under him, he's so muscular and full, and she can't even tell he has stitches  
in his leg, the way he's fucking her. She finally has to close her eyes, her  
nails digging into his broad back because she's never felt so good in her  
life. She drops her legs, her heels jutting into the mattress to meet his thrusts.

" **Harder** **,** " she whispers.

XXXXX

She's biting against his shoulder, and it drives him insane. Utterly insane.  
Tom's enjoying watching her little battle between her eyes opening, and  
closing the intensity of all of this _to much_ for her. And he relishes into it.  
Fingers grip against her hip, his thrusts never once slowing down. He's  
in a complete rhythm that has him climbing over the edge already. Tom  
looks down at her, her little whisper ringing into his mind.

She wants him to go harder. How hard? Lips press together in a thin  
line, his forehead covered in a small amount of sweat. His fucking hips  
aren't used to this kind of work out, and god– it feels fucking wonderful.  
He could do this all fucking night, exploring all kinds of different ways.  
Wondering on what she liked best. His hand drops from her leg, both of  
his knees digging into the mattress, his back straight.

Rachel was so _small_ compared to him. He filled her completely. Hands  
snap at her knees, pushing them towards the bed, needing **full** access.  
His cock is moving slow, knowing what his next move was– but toying  
with her. Dipping his head low planting feathered kissing along her chest,  
meeting her mouth just once before both of his hands meet her owns,  
roughly pushing her arms above her head. His tongue rolling along her  
neck, before his hips rolled out desperately slow, and slamming right  
back into her hard. And _repeat._

XXXXX

He shifts his position and she's anticipating…all this man does is  
make her _**anticipate**_ the next **thrill** he's going to give her. She  
never wants this to end, never wants to leave this bed. She  
wants to do it _all night long, in every position_. What's his favorite,  
she briefly wonders. Does he prefer control or would he give  
it up? She doesn't know how her mind is working at this  
moment, but she can't stop thinking about the next time  
because _god help her_ , **there will be a next time.**

They move together like they've done this before, and though  
they have, not like this. He fits in her perfectly, completely, fully  
and she misses the feeling every time he slides out, only to  
practically _purr_ every time he enters her again. He spreads her  
knees and it changes the angle, she's gasping more, panting now.  
Her heart flutters as he kisses her chest, and when he kisses  
her lips, she gladly accepts, hungrily kissing him back, head  
coming off the pillows as she tries to deepen it, before his lips  
are gone. When he pushes her hands over her head roughly,  
her eyes widen in excitement, and she grips his tightly, eyes  
transfixed on the man above her. He's moving painfully slow  
and she starts to whimper, _**needing more**_.

When his tongue connects with her neck, and he pulls out  
slowly again, she's ready to protest once more, needs him  
buried in her, _she's so close_ , she's desperate and his slow  
thrusts are holding her back. Her wish is granted when he  
pounds into her, the sensation sending a **rush** through her  
system, the pleasure and the pain colliding in her to create  
a bubble of desire. For HIM. The second time she's  
 _writhing below him_ , gripping his hands, telling him how  
amazing it feels. The third time.. _ **.she's gone**_. Crumbling  
beneath him, her insides exploding around him.

" _Don't_. **You**. _**Stop**_." she pants frantically, her accent  
heavy, her voice hoarse.

XXXXX

Fingers lace together, his grip on her hands are tight and his weight  
is nearly all in it. Hoping, he wasn't crushing them. She'd let him know.  
His mouth is finding her neck again, teeth pulling at her skin hues  
scanning at the lovely marks on her neck caused by **him.** And him  
alone. It makes his heart flutter in his chest. Was it lust? Or something  
else? He can't tell right now– all he cares right now is getting Doctor  
Rachel Scott to _scream_ his name, to be utterly _breathless_ and crumble  
by HIM alone.

She's getting tighter and tighter by each and every thrust almost making  
it difficult to _move,_ he doesn't _care._ He's quickening his pace, but not  
once going gentle. No, she asked for **harder.** And harder she would get.  
Skin against skin, her breasts bouncing under him and he's about to lose  
it—- and then she's talking, _demanding,_ her accent thick a low moan escaping  
him, his fingers let go grabbing her waist to hoist himself up as he rocks  
into her, his chest on FIRE as the ecstasy is far to greater then to BREATHE.

The tips of his fingers are digging into her hips, keeping her _in place_ as  
his entire lower half is thrusting into her, filling her entirely, wanting her to  
FALL. Wanting her to _ache._ All of the above. Another moan escapes him,  
hues landing on hers, not once letting up.

' **Come** on baby, let go.'

XXXXX

He's moving faster now, holding her hard by the hips, and she wonders if  
she'll have more bruises. But these are the bruises she wants, bruises of desire,  
need, and pleasure. Left by him. Proud marks. Her eyes flicker to his hands on  
her and the sight of his large, strong hands on her tiny waist is hot and makes  
her swallow hard. But she feels safe, feels nothing but good, WONDERFUL,  
things at the mercy of HIS hands, unlike earlier. She shakes her head just a  
bit, pushing the thoughts away, focusing on the mammoth man on his knees  
in front of her, her eyes locking with his.

He's gorgeous in this moment, all primal, all masculine and she hears herself  
emit a sigh of satisfaction at his looks alone, before she loses her breath  
completely at the way he's pounding into her, rocking her to the core. She's  
trembling, her legs shaking, arching her back just slightly to meet his thrusts.  
And then he's talking to her in that deep, almost gravelly voice. He calls her  
'baby', tells her to let go, and any last wall that needed to be caved in is gone  
and she's coming violently around him.

Her hands are still over her head, gripping the headboard so hard her knuckles are  
white, and her eyes fly shut, her shoulders down to the small of her back coming  
off the bed. Her walls clench around him and spasm chaotically around his cock,  
and it's like waves and she can't catch her breath.

"Tom!"

She's crying out, practically screaming him name, falling into an amazing  
abyss at his mercy.


	29. Chapter 29

With her hands at his back, each small touch leaves burns against  
it, the desire for her is all to real, and he can no longer blame it on  
these ' _comforts. '_ Even if that's all he has ever known how to comfort  
someone. With actions, instead of words. Maybe she could teach him.  
He's never been a gentle man. Not like this. For his kids? Of course.  
But this— no, this is all new. It's filling a bubble in his chest that would  
need to POP. Or he would pop.

The touches were toxic. She was toxic. ( so far from it. ) He craved her  
more and more, touches even MORE. He's got all of her, with her sadistic  
ways could be so fucking TENDER. Her tanned skin looked so delicious  
under him, he _could_ run his tongue all down it and he so thrilled over it.  
Knowing what she tasted like, he'd be in sin. Tom's listening to her  
breath hitch at his slow movement, grinning lightly against her lips, teeth  
nipping at her lower lip, tongue dancing slowly with hers, while he moves  
inside of her slowly, so slowly it seems as if the world out there didn't even  
exist.

A man could dream.

An arm is sliding down her side, his hips thrusting in and out slowly,  
filling her completely, repeating. This sensation starting to blow him  
away, this _feeling._ All of it. All of her. Hand placing around her side,  
fingers wrapping around her, overwhelmed in his mind Rachel Scott  
taking _over_ him completely.

XXXXX

There's nothing in her mind **but him.** Nothing. There's no apocalypse,  
no cure, no vaccine, no bruises, not bullet wounds. All there is here is  
her, him, and what's happening in this moment.

Her hands travel up and down his back before one hand cups his cheek.  
The tender kisses, the tender way he's taking her, everything is standing  
still. Her stomach is in tight knots of pleasure, and her heart is _RACING_  
despite how slow they're moving together. If she didn't know better she'd  
call this something so much more intimate than sex. This isn't sex, this  
is a _whole other level_ of feeling and pleasuring one another. There's  
no wild rush, no slap of skin. They move together as one. It's **p u r e**.

It's the utter opposite of what they just did. She loves the way he switched  
gears, wonders if this is how he prefers it. She wants to ask, catalogs it in  
her mind for later. Right now she wants to focus on the way his thrusts feel  
against her walls, the way his body rubs against her sweet bud, pushing  
her so close she might go sooner than she expected. There's something  
about the slow pace that's making her even _hotter._

His fingers clutching her side does make her writhe in delight, the first  
movement her body has truly made under him; she has let him lead,  
let him decide speed, rhythm, everything. Not that she's complaining,  
he can take her anyway he wants and she's going to gladly accept.

She is enamored by how _**slow an**_ he's going, and she's so _right  
there_, on the edge. The softest of moans escapes her swollen lips,  
followed by his name, whispered, said ever so _**y**_ , hand caressing  
his cheek, eyes opening to watch his face.

" _ **Tom**_ ,"

XXXXX

The build up was going to rip him APART. With each gentle movement  
of his hips, each way his fingers gripped her skin, each way his lips  
glided across her skin, this—- was going to consume hi e.  
It felt as if they were in slow motion, compared to what their precious  
fuck was just like. This wasn't– this wasn't just two people screwing  
anymore. And perhaps he should change it. But the thought of that  
alone has it already in pieces, dismissing it entirely.

It was sweet. It was innocent. It was pure.

His mouth is leaving hers, trailing kisses down her jaw line, nose pushing  
her chin to the side to give him access, his hot breath against her skin,  
teeth just ever so _lightly_ nipping at the skin on her neck, his head still  
gliding across her skin, not finished kissing the exposed skin, making a  
trail of different kinds of kisses down the top of her chest, to her collar  
bone, and shoulder.

With his name _moaning_ out of her mouth, he nearly comes. _Nearly._ Sliding  
his hand down to her leg, gripping the skin– his hips fall into a quicker pace,  
deeper, meeting her hips every single time as the need for his release  
gets stronger with each thrust,chest burning with complete desire as he hits  
every single nerve he possibly can inside of her. Cyan hues open, mouth along  
her chin, lifting his head up slowly, his hips rocking harder and harder. Fingers  
are on his cheek, and he lets out a shaky breath not sure if he can handle this  
 _ **feeling.**_

' **God** damn, _Rachel._ '

XXXXX

He's moving harder and faster against her now, hand on her leg, and  
she's beginning to crumble as his eyes meet hers. Her name on his lips  
rocks her _all the way to her soul._ She rubs his cheek with her thumb,  
determined not to take her eyes off his and when she comes, she wants  
him to see everything he's doing to her, inside and out.

Her other hands grasps his broad shoulder, clinging to him, her other leg  
sliding up over his hip, her toes running down his calf. Her heart feels like  
it could pound right out of her chest and she's forgetting to breath, lost  
entirely in his deep blues and the feelings building inside her, her climax  
rising to the peak before she falls. Small moans are falling off her lips, _  
soft,_ and despite how much she wants to come around him again,  
 _wants him to feel it,_ she wishes this would never end.

And then her eyes **widen** , instead of closing, in _pure bliss_ as she comes  
around him in sharp spasms, her walls quaking around him. Unlike  
last time, she doesn't move, simply stares at his eyes, mouth open,  
moans of ecstasy escaping, his name always mixed in there, more  
than once. The leg rubbing his calf, hooks around his knee, and this  
time there's no nails digging into him, just soft fingers holding on  
 _ **for dear life**_. She feels incredible, like she's **g o n e** , lost in his  
eyes as she quakes around his hard length. This orgasm shakes her  
to her very core but she can barely move, doesn't want to break  
this tender moment.


	30. Chapter 30

Eyes aren't ocean blue anymore, they're dark– full of lust and need.  
Fingers wrap around her thigh, the tips of his fingers digging into her  
skin, as the build up keeps rising, and rising, almost DROWNING him.  
The gentle touch of her thumb against his cheek has his heart flipping  
in his chest, breath hitching against his throat.

With each deep thrust, he can practically taste her orgasm start to  
l. Her inner walls were so fucking tight against his hard cock, he  
lets out a low groan tongue flicking out to lick his lower lip, other hand  
reaching down to grab her ass, pushing himself deeper into her as he  
starts to slip away a hiss leaving his lips.

Her legs are _trembling_ as her climax takes OVER. He's right behind her,  
another moan leaves his mouth eyes fluttering close as he pounds into  
her, riding it out—- every fiber in his body felt on FIRE. As if he couldn't  
properly breathe, chest heavy. Every grip on her was tight, hard, he  
can't even think for a second if he was hurting. Curses and her name is  
leaving his mouth as the waves simply take over.

XXXXX

Every grip he has on her is welcome and wanted and craved. She watches  
him come as she comes down from hers, panting. The hand on his cheek  
slides up into his soft hair, feeling the amazing softness between her fingers.  
His thrusts are prolonging her pleasure, and she's so sensitive. She can still  
feel his throbbing cock amidst her own throbbing heat, and she tries to  
memorize the feeling.

She loves his large hand on her ass, a sweet spot for her. She wonders  
if _he's_ cataloging things for later, remembering what she likes, how she  
likes it. For later. She hopes they'll be a later. She needs this again and  
again, is insatiable, can't get **h** of his hands on her, his cock  
inside her, and she wants to do it every. way. they. can.

She's shaking underneath him right now though, her heart racing at the  
speed of light, her breathing still ragged, her wet heat still periodically  
spasming around him. She captures his lips, heated and deep, tongue  
sliding past his lips. She can't get enough of the way he tastes. She's  
drunk on him. The hand in his hair deepens the kiss as her whole body  
continues to shake. She hooks her legs together around his hips, holding  
him there. She's not ready for him to part from her yet, knows the loss  
will be _**great**_

XXXXX

Counts to thirty until he can successfully move again. He doesn't  
eve e. He's locked into place with her slender legs wrapped  
around his hips, mouth still against her own, tongue dragging along  
her own tasting her sweetness. He will _never_ get over how she  
tastes. Tea and honey. He could kiss her for hours, and be satisfied.

The grip he had on her leg left, sliding up her side slowly and tenderly,  
wrapping under her waist, while his other hand is still very much on her  
ass, pulling her into him and quickly rolling the pair so his back is now  
against his mattress, his thigh _thanking_ him. He's still buried deep inside  
of her, not wishing to pull out anytime soon. He won't. He's perfectly  
happy with the current situation. Fingers dance along her naked back,  
kissing her once more before he pulls away.

Mind reminding him as to WHY this happened. _Twice._ Wonders if it  
could be a third time? Could his leg handle it? And his mind races  
with unanswered questions, eyes on Rachel, his other hand smoothing  
down her wild dark locks, chest rising and falling. Curious, as to what  
the hell she's thinking.

' **What's** on your mind?'

XXXXX

She's leaning over him, one hand on the mattress by his head, holding  
her up, the other gently resting over his heart. She's pleased to be on  
top, pleased he's still inside her, pleased at the way his heart is still  
racing in his chest. Hers is as well. She can't get enough of his kisses  
and is missing them already when he pulls away. One of his hands on  
her back, one smoothing her hair, which she is sure is the epitome of  
'sex hair'. She doesn't care. _**It's only him**_.

She's leaning to kiss his shoulder when he asks what's on her mind?  
She stills, inches from his shoulder, her eyes looking up to his, her  
face displaying her unsureness. Honestly, the only thing on her mind  
is how much she wants round three. Because she doesn't want to think  
about anything else. She's coping right now, seeking comfort, and he's  
been there thus far. She doesn't want to say too much and push him away.

She takes a deep breath, and finishes her intended journey to his shoulder,  
kissing and nipping along the hard contours there.

" _ **I'm thinking about how you plan to take me next,"**_ __

She whispers against his ear. She __ _ **is**_ __thinking about that, _ **she is**_. But  
she's also thinking so many other things, about the bruises scattered  
across her body, the way she's afraid to go back to sleep, the way  
she's terrified to lose _him_. She is terrified under the lay of sexual want  
for him, but this is making her feel better. He's making her feel better.  
She **s** this.

XXXXX

The heart in his chest is stil so terribly hard, he worries  
he could heave a heart attack. Her hand against his heart, wondering  
if she was even aware she was doing it. Not that he was complaining,  
it was simply– a _deep_ gesture, a comfortable one at that. They're  
testing their boundaries, clearly they didn't have a single one. Not  
yet at least.

His middle finger is running up and down her spine, going over every  
single bone, ghosting across her soft olive skin. Tom's eyes are still  
watching her carefully as she's planting kisses along his shoulder,  
the feel of her lips against his hot skin felt so damn good until she  
pauses. His question haunted her, he's certain. The _nights_ events  
HAUNTED her. And he instantly regrets asking it. He had _hoped_ for  
a small improvement, he won't give up.

Gritting his jaw at her words, fingers pinching at her skin by her shoulder.  
He wanted to take her, over and _over_ again. She wants it for a different  
reason. To **escape.** He understands, terribly so. A small sigh escapes him,  
lips pressing together as one of his hands reach for the back of her neck  
capturing her lips into a small kiss. As much as he wants to take her right  
now, he needs a little _time_ to cool off.

' _ **How about you**_ roll over, on your belly, and tell me a  
secret. Tell me about your favorites, and  
 _then_ I'll think about taking you which ever  
I please.'

XXXXX

She sucks in a breath at his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her  
down to his lips. She can tell her understands her underneath her words,  
why wouldn't he? He's probably even been here before, she thinks to  
herself. The kiss is short, chaste, and she misses his lips once they're  
gone. But then he's talking and she finds her breathing hitching at his  
words. ' _Tell me a secret. Tell me your favorites.'_

The separation is _painful_ but she finds herself quickly doing as she's told.  
She slides off him, missing the way he fills her already, and lays on her  
stomach beside him. She's anticipating again, unsure of what to expect,  
feeling suddenly vulnerable. She likes it. She _trusts_ him. She lays, her  
entire backside exposed to him, her arms tucked underneath her, head  
on the pillow, facing him.

She's thoughtful, thinking about what to say. **A secret**? She could go so  
many _places_ with that. **Her favorites**? She wants to tell him every one.  
The simple ones, the sweet ones, the naughty ones, the _dirty_ ones.

"I'm holding out on the secret for a moment."

Her voice is quiet, and she licks her bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth  
a little. She swallows a little thickly, can already feel her heart racing.

" _ **My favorites**_? Long, slow kisses. Roaming hands.  
Being fucked from behind. I love it hard, almost painful,  
but what we just did is riding _higher_ on the list."

She can feel her cheeks growing hot, but she doesn't waiver. He  
asked, she's confessing.

" _ **I**_ like to be teased. Being on top–I like control.  
I love to be fingered, as __ _ **you**_ __seem to have figured out.  
I love to be held, just… _held_. And I love my  
ass touched. It's a weak spot for me."

She's being candid, honest, but she's hoping she's giving him the answers  
 _ **he wants**_. She wants to ask him back, but she figures she'll wait. She'll  
get there. Right now she wants his reactions to hers. She wonders what  
the silver fox across from her is thinking right about now. She's divulged  
quite a bit. She could probably keep going. But there's not rush yet.

XXXXX

Could've kissed her for hours. It was to short, but he had a plan.  
A plan, that will _hopefully_ help. Even if it didn't, he'll still be there  
for her. And will the rest of the crew, whether she wanted them  
to know what happened or not. That would be discussed later.  
She was healing, in her own way. It just so happened to be with  
someone. _Him._ He's oddly happy it's him. It **could've** been Tex.  
It could've been Tex whom got the message. It could've been  
Tex who got to finger fuck her in the cell, and fuck her there too.  
The thoughts cause his stomach to flip. Disregarding it, quickly.

The loss of her sends _shivers_ down his spine. Easily accepting  
his command. Tom just watches her settle herself comfortably  
on her stomach, right next to him. Her entire body was exposed,  
and he wish he could take a _picture._ He takes a glance down at  
his leg for a second, making sure his sutures were fine. In which  
they were, a little red– but he'll accept it. He's sitting up, on his  
knees as she confesses to him that her secret would be told at  
a different time.

Licking his lower lip, getting a proper look at the bruises on her  
bare back, unsure which were from _him._ His mouth is lowering  
on the first bruise he can see, planting tender kisses along the  
sensitive purple skin, while his fingers danced along her skin.  
Eyes go wide at her voice, stilling for a split second. And he  
nearly goes _hard._

He listens, the twitches of both of the corners on his mouth curl  
slowly, as his eyes scan for more marks against her back, kissing  
the skin, tongue running along the length of it. He figured he'd  
a list of movies, maybe even foods. However, he'll _take_ it. She  
tells him all her favorites, and he's nearly met all of them. His  
hand roams over her ass, squeezing a cheek hard.

' **Very** honest. How do you _feel?_ '

XXXXX

She holds her breath as he continues to kiss along her back, his fingers sending  
shocks through her system. It's like he's _electrically charged_ , and it's making it  
hard for her to think. It's soothing. She knows she must have bruises, possibly  
cuts, along her back, but she tries not to think about it. Tries to focus on his  
hand and his mouth, the way he's touching her, _licking_ her, **kissing** __her back.  
She gasps almost inaudibly as he squeezes her ass, lifting it slightly off the bed  
into his touch. She feels like she should run dry at this point, but no, she's getting  
wetter. Maybe she should let him sleep? He probably needs more.

"I was going for **honest**.  
 _You asked, I answered_."

She closes her eyes to his ministrations, thinking about his question. How _**does**_  
she feel? She takes inventory. She's not sure how to answer. But she said she  
was going for honest, so maybe she should just be candid about this to? What  
could he possibly do? Throw her out? Turn away? She just told him ever sexual  
favorite she had, and he's roaming her body with his mouth and his hands. Maybe  
he won't be put off by the other spectrum of honesty?

"I'm.. _.scared._ Of nightmares. Falling asleep and not being  
able to escape them. Of what your crew will think.  
If they'll pity me. I'm ashamed of how I let him treat me,  
and yet proud of it all the same. I'm sore, some of the  
marks _hurt_. I'm tired. So tired. But at the same point in  
time, I'm wide awake, no sleep in sight. **I'm a mess**."

The last sentence comes out so quiet she wonders if he even heard her. She  
chews her lip, opening her eyes, raising up on her elbows to look back at him,  
needing to make one thing _**very**_ clear.

"But I wouldn't change any of  
 _ **this**_ for _anything_."

She's referring to them, in this moment. She hopes he knows what she's saying.  
It's important he knows that _**this**_ is not part of her mess. Yes, she's coping through  
it, but she **doesn't** regret it. Not for a millisecond.


	31. Chapter 31

The kisses he's planting across her skin had only just begun on her  
shoulders, his mouth is scattering across her back, fingers running  
down her sides, running along her back, down to the curve of her ass  
to her legs. While his mouth still kisses travels south, tasting salt. From  
the small sweat. It was intoxicating. And the ache in his belly started  
to grow deeper again.

A smile is on his cheeks as her own ass is lifting off the bed at the light  
squeeze. It really was a spot for her. His tongue runs down her spine,  
listening to her. His heart truly hurting as she told him she's SCARED.  
Lips meet her ribs gently, looking at the bruises – taking a small breath  
in. She had thought the crew with pity her? Absolutely not. Eyes meet  
hers, watching her sit up slowly. She was not a mess. This was perfectly  
normal for her. For anyone. He moves forward, hand leaving her ass to  
grab her neck gently, pulling her into a searing kiss. Tom didn't know  
what to say, so he comforts her with lips, attempting so. He barely pulls  
away, looking straight into her eyes.

' **Don't** worry about the crew.  
You're doing perfectly _fine_ , I  
assure you. How you feel?  
It's normal. Hell, you're doing  
a hell of a lot better then I  
did.'

XXXXX

The kiss leaves her _**breathless**_ , makes her forget everything she's confessed for  
a moment. Something about his lips on hers does that. Really his lips on her  
 **everything** does that. Anything he touches turns to _fire_. She wonders how  
she could have kept herself away from him this long, knowing how this would  
feel. She wonders if _**he**_ __wonders the same.

His words _are_ reassuring and she relaxes her tense shoulders. She's not  
usually one to talk, to express her inner thoughts, finds herself to be more  
of an introvert, and she deals with things on her own. But she suddenly  
wants to talk to him, really _talk to him_ , tell him anything and everything.

His face is _so close_ to hers, she wants to lean in, capture his lips again. And  
she does, but only briefly before she pulls back, searching his eyes, brow furrowing.

" **Better** than _**you did**_?"

XXXXX

Tom's hovering over her back, his hand still on her neck feeling her  
pulse under his touch, and he's reassuring. Making note that this was  
real. His right hand is gliding around her right side, fingers rolling down  
her ribs. He _could_ just slip his fingers right into her, he wants too. Yet,  
he doesn't. He could make her feel so good within seconds, instead of  
being scared.

Happy that she kisses him again, it was small. Could've pulled her into  
another one, and a thousand of them after that. He could get lost in her,  
and happily never find his way back. Nodding slowly, lips pressing into  
a thin line. He'd share something with her, that not many people knew.  
Slattery was one of them. His hands still on her back, finding a comfortable  
spot to place.

' **When** I was twenty, I was sent on a mission.  
And it went so _wrong._ Dozens died, some at  
my hands. I was held captive for days, beaten  
and tortured. I'd never talk, not once. Finally,  
they came for me. But I _killed._ First real kills,  
it— It takes away something inside of you.  
I couldn't cope with it, for weeks. I was pissed  
at the world. No one could deal with me.  
No one could even _reason_ with me. I thought  
that it was all my fault, that if I could've done  
something different maybe I could've spared  
some lives…. I _got_ through it. And you will too.  
I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. Do  
you understand?'

XXXXX

His hand on her neck is welcome and wanted and she's comfortable here.  
 **Trusts** him with his hands on her neck. Not someone else. She pushes the  
thoughts from her mind yet again. They keep coming back. She needs to  
focus on him. Needs to focus on the now. His hand moving up her side  
makes her shudder, almost in a ticklish sense, but the smile doesn't meet  
her lips because she's too entranced on him.

She listens to his story, so focused on **every word**. He _ **does**_ __understand.  
Not that she questioned it but this is real. He gets it because he's been there  
and something about this story solidifies it. If he got through that, she can get  
through this right? She can. Because _**she has him**_ , because he **is** here for  
her. When he says that he's not going to let anything happen to her, she  
wants to cry. Feels the _tears_. Tears for him and all he's been through, and  
tears for herself. They flood her eyes and she tries to blink them back,  
though one escapes, sliding slowly down her cheek.

"I'm **sorry** that happened to you. That's terrible.  
But you're a better captain for it, I'm **sure** of it."

And she _means_ it. For all he has experienced, it allows him to be a better leader.  
She lays her head back down, and her hand moves up the caress his cheek.  
She has no other words, so she's touching him to show him her empathy.  
And that she's thankful. For his story **and** for _him_.

" **How**? How did you _'get through it'_?"

XXXXX

His leg is threatening to give out, as much as he wants to continue to  
kiss down her back, along her legs, and arms– he needs to take a break.  
With the hand that rested on her neck, the hands that had _ **killed**_ many  
people, she had seemed so CONTENT with it being there. That says so  
much to him. Rachel trusts him. _Completely._ And trust was hard to come  
by.

Tom's moving, laying himself right next to her facing her as her eyes grow  
glossy, and he wonders if his STORY makes her emotional? His brows  
pinch together– angry at himself. He hadn't wanted to make her sad, he  
wanted to explain that she's doing so much better then he had. That perhaps  
she was STRONGER then he was.

Reaching over, grabbing her chin in his hands a gentle sigh leaving him,  
shaking his head at her.

' **I'm** saying you're so much stronger then  
I am, Rachel. Right now? Back then? I'd  
be buried deep with rage for myself. I don't  
exactly think it made me a better captain.'

He wants her closer, he has to have her closer. He doesn't like the space  
between them. Even though they were shoulder to shoulder, he wants and  
aches for more. With his other arm, he leans on his side encouraging her to  
lean on him, whatever _she_ wanted.

' **Time** is your friend. Talking about it  
helps. Eventually, it'll just be a memory.  
You live for _now._ Not then.'

XXXXX

She misses his lips as he lays down beside her, but she's thankful for his  
nearness. She wonders about his leg briefly, she should check it. She shuns  
herself for not having done so yet, after everything they'd done so far. She'll  
look at it soon, but not yet. He's laying comfortably now, pressure off it, so  
she'll check it soon enough. She knows he wouldn't say anything if it was  
bothering him. Tough, this one. No one would ever know he'd been shot  
in this moment.

She reads his expression, and immediately wishes the tear hadn't escaped,  
she hadn't meant for him to feel bad. She's having a hard time right now,  
doesn't feel like herself emotionally. She's struggling, as she suspects he  
knows. And she's wishing she wasn't. But his story helped her. And made  
her feel sad **for him**. At twenty, that's a terrible thing to go through,  
horrible. Shes in her mid thirties, she can't imagine how'd she feel if  
she were _twenty_.

She could listen to his voice for days. The conviction, the depth. As he's  
telling her about his rage, she's caught up. She's not stronger than him.  
She's stronger because of him.

"I'm only strong because I have you, Tom.  
Without you…"

She drifts off because she has no idea what would be if she wasn't here,  
if he hadn't offered for her to stay. She shot him for christs sake, and yet  
here he is, taking care of _her_. Comforting _her_. Making love to _her_ despite  
all. She'll forever be grateful. And she knows that **grateful** feeling means  
so, so much more than she can admit right now. She knows how she  
feels in her _heart_ , as she stares at him from her place on his pillow, but  
she can't put it into words.

As he leans on his side, she can tell he's allowing her closer and she  
doesn't hesitate. She slides across the sheets into him, her nose to his  
chest, breathing in his scent, her arms snuggled between them,  
toes against his, rubbing his feet between hers, the friction welcomed, that  
hand settling against his heart again, feeling the consistent beat under  
her palm. It's so soothing, and strong, and it gives her peace and strength.  
If time was her strength, and she was supposed to live for the now, she  
would. She'll take his advice, his way of coping. She closes her eyes.

"Thank you."

 _Those words encompass everything._


	32. Chapter 32

_Without you…._ He swallows hard. He knows. God, does he know.  
He remembers feeling so helpless, so upset, so _pissed._ He brings  
his lips to her shoulder, comforting her. He falls into a deep place  
without her, he'd probably be dead. Without him, she'd fall into a  
depression she wouldn't know how to come back from. Without  
her, he'd still be on the ship. Without him, she'd be okay. Yet it  
all falls down to the fact he _needs_ her. Whether he wants to admit  
it yet or not. The thought alone causes him to feel so fucking guilty  
he could punch himself in the face.

She's getting comfortable against him, her chin against his chest,  
and she feels so damn good against him, through and through.  
Both on, and inside. It stirs something inside of him, again. This  
woman would drive him insane, truly. He's extending his arm  
looping it over her side, so he can run his fingers along her naked  
back, a motion in which he finds himself enjoying a lot.

' **I should** be thanking you.  
I'm alive because of you.'

The truth, very so. They were both very thankful. And he wouldn't  
forget this anytime soon.

XXXXX

She could lay here forever and be okay with it. She doesn't want to get up,  
never wants to leave this bed. Doesn't want to look at a clock and ever know  
what time it is. His crew knows their captain needs rest, she suspects no one  
will come looking for him for a while longer. They still have time to stay just like  
this. As if time has stopped. She's so comfortable here, against him. Isn't sure  
she's ever been _so comfortable_ or felt **so safe.**

Her toes trail up and down his much larger feet, along the side of his calf,  
because it's soothing. And because she's so close to him, she can't help  
but touch him. His arm over her waist feels natural, so natural, as if he's  
done it a hundred times. His fingers along her back rouse a sigh of enjoyment  
and she closes her eyes at his words. Thanking her?

" _I shot you."_

There's laughter in her voice, and she welcomes the feeling in her chest.

"You're alive because **thankfully** I missed  
your artery. **Let me look at it**?"

She doesn't want to separate herself, but she feels the need to make  
sure his sutures are all right. There's no blood anywhere, but she wants  
to be sure they're holding fast.

She's feeling _lighter_ than she has all night, and wonders if talking about it  
helped a little. If his story made her feel less alone. If maybe it's just his  
presence that is making her feel so alive now.

She leans back, waiting for him to agree to let her, her toes still playing  
along his.

XXXXX

Tom doesn't dare glance over at the clock on his wall. It's probably  
early morning, he can feel it in his bones. Hell, he knows it. And he  
knows no one will disturb him until he's made himself known. They  
have awhile. A long while. The thought of breaking this– peace  
between him doesn't settle well. He wants this for hours, for days.  
To lay here with Rachel for weeks. To kiss her, to fuck her, to make  
sure she was _alright._

The toes against his calf cause chills down his spine, her feet were  
so fucking cold. Fingers dance along her back, often running across  
her dark curls, along her shoulders, down to her ass– _everywhere_  
they could touch, he was touching her. The want to slip his hand  
lower down her ass, between her cheeks and right _into_ her. Not  
yet. A smile crosses his cheeks as he hears the hint of surprise  
and laughter behind her tone. He could defend her, explain that  
it was NATURAL. It just so happen to be that he was in her way.  
He _was_ in the wrong.

' **By** all means, go right ahead.  
Little sore, but I think they're  
still in tact.'

The truth. A little sore was the little white lie, it hurt like a fucking  
bitch. Tom wasn't about to tell her that. Then again, people whom  
get shot don't typically fuck someone on their _knees_ right after it.  
He's special.

XXXXX

She doesn't want his touch to end, and as soon as she checks his sutures,  
she'll resume her position. Because then she'll feel better about taking advantage  
of him again. And again. And possibly again. She wants to see how long he can  
go, how many times, how many ways. Every time his fingers slid down to her  
ass, she could feel herself grower wetter and wetter. Getting more excited. He  
has her wound so tightly for him, like a spring. All she needs is a small touch and  
she's gone. She admires his ability.

She pushed him onto his back, slides down his naked body, taking every inch  
of him in. Every. Inch. Including the manhood that lays against him, making her  
mouth water now in delight. She could just slip it into her mouth and she'd like  
to think she'd make him hard in mere seconds. She almost wants to challenge  
herself. His cock looks so inviting there, she forgets why she's sliding down  
his body right now. Until her peripheral picks up the red skin around the tight  
sutures.

No blood. That's a good sign. Though the skin is pulled and red, and she's  
sure their antics aren't helping the healing. She touches the skin a little,  
wonders if a bandage would help. Not if he's going to fuck her again,  
she says slyly to herself. She'll take care of him again later, numb it  
some more, bandage it. When they're done.

She slinks back up his body, her heat resting just before his cock, and  
she leans forward, breasts on his chest, legs on the inside of his, his  
cock pressed into her abdomen between them. She's hot just thinking  
about it.

"It's a bit red but looks okay.  
I'll check it again shortly."

A hand runs through his hair and she wants his hands back on her.

XXXXX

The second his head hits his feathered pillows, eyes go wide in delight  
as he prepares for something – _ready_ for her. He tries not to go there,  
not yet. She had just admitted that she was SCARED. He doesn't want  
to go and push himself on her, as much as he craves to do so. This  
was all on her, she would call the shots from now on. He'd let her have  
that say.

And then she's _sliding_ down him, as if he was a fucking SLIDE. And jesus,  
he takes in a sharp breath, her body running down his cock causes him  
to hiss. His crystal deep blue hues are dark, watching her as she makes  
herself _right_ at home, and it causes his tongue to flicker out to his lower  
lip, gritting his jaw tightly. Tom can feel her fingers around the wound,  
it's tender– that's for fucking sure. A doctor would be scolding at him  
for this kind of behavior.

Once she's rested back against him, his length nearly twitches at how  
wet she still is. He will _not_ move. Fingers find her back again, dragging  
his fingertips along the skin, being careful for the bruising and cuts.  
Eyes on hers, a curl on his lips, shifting into a small gentle smile. Of  
course they're okay. He knew his limit, unless he'd be gushing blood,  
he wouldn't stop.

' _ **You**_ don't need to check them  
all the time. I'm _fine,_ Rachel. I've  
taken worse hits.'

XXXXX

He's touching her back, smiling ever so gently, and she's so ready for more.  
Wants him again. Wants to drown more memories, and make more memories,  
and feel him stretch her once more _. Can she just take him?_ Slide him right into  
her wetness without asking, without warning. Wonders what he'd do. How  
he'd react, the look that might cross his features.

Instead she nips around on his collar bone and neck, listening to him tell her  
he's taken worse hits. She laughs a little against his skin. Feels challenged.  
Not that she wants them to break but just how far can she push him? She  
feels like her limits were pushed and now she wants to **push someone else's.**  
Her hands find his arms and she's pining them over his head before he can  
stop her, holding his strong wrists into the pillows. She shifts herself until her  
soaked hole is just over his cock, and she drops down, rubbing her folds over  
his ridges, not letting him, just rubbing herself on him. She shivers in deliciousness,  
closes her eyes just briefly.

"You're fine huh? Think the sutures can  
take anything? Let's try it, shall we?"

She sits on him now, pressing his cock into his abdomen, folds spread over his  
member, her wetness covering him. She's teasing, she knows, but she needs  
him again. **And again**. _**And again**_. If he could just fuck her to a place where all  
she sees, hears, and thinks about in her mind is **h i m** , then she's golden. She  
needs to be too exhausted to move, and she's still having too much fun yet.  
She slides her wet lips up and down his shaft , never parting their quasi-  
connection, but not letting him slip _inside_ her either.


	33. Chapter 33

His other hand tangles his fingers into her dark locks, wrapping around  
his hands, in his fingers, while his fingers drag along her back. Tom's  
watching her eyes, there's a twinkle in her eyes and he knows what she's  
thinking, he can see it. Hell– he can _feel_ it. She's humming inside, and he's  
so far deep in that he can't protest against it. That maybe they should sleep.  
As if sleep could trump this woman? Not at all.

Rachel's laugh rumbles against his chest, and it's probably the most beautiful  
thing that he ever felt. So innocent, and pure. Teeth sink into his skin, causing  
him to let out a deep breath, not sure if he would be ready for whatever the  
hell she's planning up in that wonderful mind of hers. Her slender fingers are  
reaching for her arms, and he lets go of her hair– _wiling_ at her mercy. Even  
 _if_ her strong arms could _never_ hold him down. He wouldn't burst that bubble.  
Not yet, not until he's m a d. The second she shifts against him, he's reacting.  
Hips bucking forward, _christ._

Mouth falls slack for a moment, absolutely relishing into this sensation.  
Yeah, _fine._ He thinks, eyes open and wide full of passion and desire as  
he watches her sit up against him, he wants to move his hand onto her hip.  
Won't move it yet. Wondering how _long_ she could last rubbing her sweet  
lips against him, making him harder then he'd ever known. It was almost  
l. A groan falls out of his mouth, watching the scene against  
him.

' _ **Fuck,**_ Rachel.'

XXXXX

She's _**grinning like Cheshire kitten**_ over him, gripping his wrists tightly.  
She wonders how much teasing he can **take** before he breaks. She would  
assume a lot, seems like a guy who has _willpower made of steel._ They've  
managed to keep their hands off each other this long, so she wonders how  
long she can play with him before he uses his size and strength to overpower  
her. Is it bad that _ **the thought of that**_ only turns her on more?

She moves **so slowly** , all the way to the base and back up, sliding her  
wetness all over him. She lets out a moan at the friction, shuddering, his  
cock hitting her clit so perfectly. God she wants him. _Not yet,_ she tells her, _soon._

" _What do you want?"_

She asks him, nips along the long column of his neck, pressing his big  
arms further into the mattress.

"Do you want me to **ride you**? Or would you want to  
be on top again? Or do you want to _fuck me_ from behind?"

She finds a soft spot on his neck and sucks **hard,** before licking to ease any  
pain. She repeats on what she can reach, still holding him down. She  
moves a breast to his mouth, sliding the nipple against his lips.

" **Suck it."**

She's demanding, _**truly**_ playing with him now. She **needs** control. So she'll  
take it while she can, until _ **he**_ decides it's _**his turn**_. Maybe she'll even object,  
but only _**for the fun of it.**_

XXXXX

This was pure _torture._ He wants to touch her, wants to grip some sort  
of her skin, anything his hands could touch– he wants to drown in her,  
yet her tiny little hands were against his own, in an attempt at trying to  
control their situation, as if she had _any_ control over him. She'll let her  
have **this.** She needs it. And it was so _sinful._ Gritting his jaw tightly,  
swallowing thickly as she rubs her folds against his aching cock.

Good _god._ A jerk of his hips when she reaches the base of him, unable  
to control _that_ part of him. His breath is hard, heavy– eyes watching  
her sweet heat slide up and down him. His eyes snap up, when she asks  
when what he had wanted. _So fucking much._ He thinks, eyes looking up  
at their hands.

A curl of his lips is forming on his cheeks, she was a _minx._ Tom rolls his  
hips, sliding her slick folds against him at her naughty words, cheeks  
growing red as the need starts to grow deeper and deeper. He moans  
at her tongue against his neck, eyes rolling close for a split second until  
he can feel her nipple against his mouth, _demanding_ for him to suck her.  
Grinning from ear to ear, eyes on her as he takes her breast into his  
mouth, tongue twirling around her nipple.

The whole Rachel being in control was starting to slip, he wasn't going to  
last long at all.

XXXXX

Every roll of his hips is breaking her resolve, and now that his mouth  
is on her breast, tongue on her nipple, she's questioning why she's  
trying to keep him at bay. Her eyes practically roll back in her head,  
and she lets out a grateful sigh at the contact, another rush of  
wetness between her thighs, coating his length. She tries to clear  
her mind, tries to focus only on **holding him down** and teasing _ **him**_.

" **Stop** moving your hips."

Her demand is soft, but _stern_. He's gonna push her over the edge if  
he doesn't quit and she's not ready yet. She lifts her hips to add to  
her demand, stopping their contact completely to make sure he  
complies. Hovering over him now, putting more pressure on his  
hands, moving her other breast to his mouth, looking for him to  
give it the same treatment as the first. Watching him is making it  
harder to hold off. She's teasing herself as much as she's teasing  
him, it seems. That damn smile on his face makes her weak and  
yet makes her want to keep playing with him. torturing him.

" **You** didn't answer me."

She taunts him, moving her hips higher in the air, though it's really  
the last thing she wants deep down. She removes her nipple from  
his mouth and drops her own mouth to his chest, sinking her teeth  
into his pec just lightly, eyes dark, looking up at him, her ass in the  
air behind her, hands still on his wrists, her hair cascading along  
his skin like a fan. She licks to soothe the spot before finding another  
equally good spot to bite.

She's losing herself in him. That's what she wanted, what she _ **needs**_.  
She's says a silent **thank you** to him, _he has no idea_ what he's doing for her.

XXXXX

Tom's trying so god damn hard not to move his hands, he wants to  
grab her by the hips, and simply _take her._ She needs the control.  
Needs the control like her life depends on it. So, he'll go with whatever  
the hell she wants. His mouth is still on her breast, tongue twirling around  
her pink nub, rolling it– pleased when it's hard as a rock. She's telling him  
to stop moving his hips, and he does it _once._ Just to _ **prove**_ he still hands  
the upper hand, that he's doing all of this **for her.**

But then she's gone. Eyes flicker up to her, swallowing hard. Fuck. Fuck.  
He wants her warmth on him again, the second her other breast is around  
his mouth, he _bites._ Hard. It's teasing, in most ways– tongue ravishing  
around his mark, her arms are strong. Yeah, he hadn't answered her. He  
knows. What _did_ he want? A whole fucking list. Eyes watch her as she sinks  
down to his chest, eyes growing dark. He lets out a deep breath, tongue  
rolling across his lower lip, a moan leaving his mouth as her teeth bite at  
his skin.

' **What** do I want? Everything. I want  
 _everything._ Now? I don't want this to  
ever end. I want you to sink yourself  
on me, see how much you can _take.  
_ I want to fuck you in all ends. I want  
you. I want to heal your wounds.  
I _want_ my hands, Rachel.'

Honest. She has to let him have his hands, so he can let them _roam._ To  
touch her. To NOT tease. It wasn't _nice._ He was fucking aching.

XXXXX

His words _still_ her. She doesn't even suck in a breath. He _wins_. He fucking  
wins because she can't say _no_ to that. Ever. Will never say no. When she  
looks up, his eyes are so dark, blue doesn't describe them in color any  
longer. She butterflies in her stomach grow two-fold and she's having a  
hard time breathing, thinks her heart may have even **stopped**.

Hands slide down his arms immediately, and she's holding him in position,  
dropping her wet heat down on his cock, slowly, taking him inside her inch  
by inch. Just as he had described. _Sinking_ down on him. Eyes locked with  
his the _entire time_. Letting him see what it does, and wanting to see what it  
does to him. He can use his hands how he **pleases** now, and she's looking  
forward to where he'll touch first.

He can relinquish control from her just like **that** , but he'll be _ **the only one**_  
who will be able to do so, she subconsciously decides. This _**is healing**_ her  
wounds.

She takes him inside her to the base, and _doesn't move_. Wants to memorize  
it, and wait for him to _push her_ to move. This power struggle…she **likes** it.  
She moves her own hands to her breasts.

"Is _this_ what you wanted? You can fuck  
me **any. Way. You.** _ **Want**_ **."**

Her words are _taunting, whispery,_ and she _means_ them.  
She's **his** for the **taking.**

XXXXX

Often, at times, Tom could be so fucking _scary._ So demanding, so full of  
fear. It's why he made a good _Captain_ amongst other qualities. He's one  
to always answer a question **honest** to the core. And so he had. When  
her gaze finally meets his, _satisfied._ He was _winning._ Even IF this wasn't  
a game. It was one he'd gladly win at. The game of Rachel Scott. Beg  
as his mercy.

The second his hands are free, he can't even _move_ his arms firstly, she's  
literally sinking against him, and it was fucking _ **glorious**_ _._ His entire face,  
the smile he had against his cheeks had dropped, torn between watching  
her face, her eyes– and watching her pussy lowering onto his cock. He  
settles with her face. Fucking _beautiful._ She's so _slow_ taking him by every  
single inch and it was sinful, so fucking sinful it should be a CRIME.

For awhile he just memorizes this picture. It would forever be in his memory.  
Rachel wasn't moving, he wasn't moving his hips. Just simply, inside of her.  
Watching as she places her hands over her breasts, eyes are squinting over  
her. She has him wrapped around his fucking fingers, cock, everything.  
What would he do _without_ her?

Tom's sitting up at her naughty words, she's still straddles him – his arm is  
sliding across her waist, pushing her **deeper** onto him his other hand grabbing  
the back of her neck, hips rolling up into her slowly. Their faces are so damn  
close, yet not close _enough._

' **Any** way I want?'

XXXX

The way he stares at her scares her in the best possible way. What's he thinking  
right now? What does he want? How does he want her? He's a force to be reckon  
with onto deck, and in bed she's realizing quickly. She's thumbing her nipples for  
him, and they're so still at first, as if it's their first time all over again. She realizes  
she'll never get tired of this.

She gasps when he sits up, pushing himself so deep, his large hand covering so much  
of her long thin neck. She shudders against him but doesn't break eyes contact. She  
feels so small against him again, forgets she ever had control of him. She doesn't  
need control of him, wants him to control her. Will gladly let him. A strangled ahhh  
falls off her lips as he slides deeper, arm around her trim waist. She wants to kiss him,  
but then he's asking if he can take her any way he wants. God yes. ANY WAY he  
wants. She's not objecting.

"Any way you want. Fuck me every way you can."

Her words are breathy and full of need, and she's so wet between his words and how  
he fills her. He's rolling his hips and she feels his tip hit her in a new spot and she's  
crying out in pleasure, unable to even met his hips because she's so lost in this. She  
nips at his lips, arms wrapped around his shoulders. She can help putting her lips to  
his, can't get enough of them.

She'd do anything with him, there was something about putting it all in his strong,  
capable, Captain hands. She wants to push the limits, test the waters with HIM,  
wants to do and try it all. That will help erase how Ruskov tried. Whatever Tom  
wants, he can have. She'll do it. And she'll love it, she's sure of it.

XXXXX

It was a miracle they're going still going at it, if he's going to be honest with himself.  
He was shot in the leg. By _her._ She had been in a room full of Russians. For however  
long? He wasn't entirely sure of. He had been _beaten_ by fists. They SHOULD be passed  
out hours ago, instead he's imaging how many other ways he can take her. They can sleep  
later. Maybe she'll even try and talk to him. Tell him what happened. _If she's ready._

His hand covers the back of her neck, thumb coming to rest right by hear ear. That's  
how _big_ his hand was compared to her petite frame. His other arm is against her lower  
back, hips moving slowly into her. Forgetting _every_ single time how TIGHT she is.  
It was blissful. Grinning lightly at her words, his hand slips under her thigh, raising her  
up and down against his cock, the build up driving him MAD.

' **I'm** gonna remember that.'

He would.

Tom could watch her for a lifetime. She was beautiful, inside and out. And when she came  
undone? It was a sight to _see._ Jus her nearly makes him come. His thrusts  
pick up quickly, short deep thrusts that has him driving him insane. Completely.

XXXXX

She's rolling her hips to meet his with every thrust, panting and sweating. She can't believe  
his stamina-needless to say she's impressed. Decides this is how it should _always_ be with a  
man. Though right now she can't imagine doing this with any _other man_. She's slowly coming  
undone, melting into him, leaning her head back into his hand, giving him full control.  
Fingers dig into his shoulder, arm wrapped around them, holding on so _tightly._

" _ **You better."**_

She taunts against his lips, his hand under her thigh making her feel weightless. She knows  
she should more conscious of his thigh but god damnit she wants to come so bad, to take him  
with her. The friction is driving her **insane**.

"Tom, I'm so… _close_."

She whispers the words, almost begging him to take her there. She can feel herself begin to  
tighten around him, her whimpers coming quicker. Eyes close, mouth parts, and she's taking  
his shoulder in her mouth before she can think about anything else, biting, licking, and sucking  
the strong, tight skin over his muscles. She can't believe how long they've been at this and the  
fact she wants _more and more and more_ ….He should be _flattered._ She's not sure she's **ever  
** enjoyed sex this much. Keeping her hands off him will prove a difficult feat.

XXXXX

With her head tilting back into his hand, his face comes into contact with her jawline,  
sweeping his tongue across her sweaty sweet skin, teeth just barely nipping between the  
skin. He can feel how brutally tight she was becoming around him, and it was making  
him groan, _loud._ It felt so fucking good, he thinks he could live off of this, the high.  
Fingers grip at her hair, sucking against her skin, repeating his previous actions, replacing  
it with a gentle kiss.

Grinning lightly, wondering _how_ many more ways they could fuck tonight, into the early  
morning? His hand slips closer towards her center, hips bucking into her, over and _over.  
_ Thumb brushes against her sensitive bud, hot breath against her neck. He _knows._ God, he  
 _knows._ He's pulling back, wanting to watch her come UNDONE for the millionth time.  
A picture he would truly never be able to get right.

'Come Rachel, come for _me.'_

XXXXX

Tom's hips are rolling in and out in a quick, deep, rhythm that nearly has him rolling off the  
edge. He won't allow himself to release before her, this night had proved that. It was all about  
 _her._ He's chanting to her, whispering sweet words as his thrusts were growing deeper and  
harder, pushing her over her limit.

Everything about her is on fire and she doesn't want this to stop. But she's hitting her edge at a  
million miles an hour and she can't slow down. Shivers are covering her body and as his thumb  
slides over sensitive, swollen nub and he's telling her to come for _him_ , she cannot deny him.  
She wants it so bad, wants him to feel it, wants her insides to **explode** _ **.**_

She feels hot and tingly as she nears that incredible sensation before it takes over, riding him and  
his hand as _hard_ as she can, and then she's arching her back, pressing herself into him. Eyes fall  
shut, and she's practically screaming his name, her thighs griping his. Her hot center is spasming  
so hard around his length she can't _breathe,_ and she doesn't _want_ to. Fingers dig into skin, _hard_.  
Writhing against him, she can feel her juices coating his length and the sheets. He should be _so pleased_  
with himself.

A dark ocean of stars swarms behind her eyelids and she can't stop riding it out, bucking her hips against his,  
keeping him _deep_ inside. A stream of moans is still falling off her lips, and then she's capturing his as she  
comes down slowly, legs shaking, sagging against him, head falling to his shoulder, breath coming in pants.  
She needs to _recover_ , if only momentarily.

"God, that's _amazing_."

Husky whispers against his ear as her tongue traces the sensitive flesh. Now it's _his_ turn.


End file.
